Fic: When Play Turns Bitter - Chapter 13: "(I'm Going To) Stop Pretending I Didn't Break Your Heart"

[nanoochka]

TITLE: "When Play Turns Bitter - Chapter Thirteen: (I'm Going To) Stop Pretending I Didn't Break Your Heart"
AUTHOR: nanoochka
RATING: NC-17 for language, violence and graphic descriptions of sex.
PAIRING: Dean/Castiel, Dean/OMC, Sam/OFC, mentions of Dean/Lisa and Cas/Balthazar
SUMMARY: “You’re happy with your world/ But there is something small in the back of your head/ Your concerns are still free/ You fall into the trap/ Without knowing what you want/ And there’s nothing left but a foolish idea/ Everything goes back into place.” Remember that play turns sour when playing with a fire; but Dean is as tired of pretending like his life hasn’t begun, as he is waiting for Castiel to notice.
WARNINGS: OMC slash, references to past character death - please be aware that this chapter might be triggery, as it contains graphic descriptions of death
SPOILERS: General S6
WORDCOUNT: WIP
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and all associated content is the property of The CW and Eric Kripke. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: See previous parts for full author's notes. The title is from the traditional Welsh standard written and sung by Caryl Parry-Jones, “Chwarae'n Troi'n Chwerw” (“When Play Turns Bitter” or, “When Play Turns Sour” - lyrics here); chapter title from Eels. Thanks to fossarian for taking point as head cheerleader/alpha, and the indefatigable cautionzombies and mclachlan for the amazing betas and intensive handholding.

Part Twelve

“When Play Turns Bitter” by nanoochka

Chapter Thirteen: (I'm Going To) Stop Pretending I Didn't Break Your Heart

The fact that Sam was there when Dean made it home put him largely at war with himself. He was surprised, though it was a logical time for Sam to be home from work, and both grateful and resentful of his presence. One thing Dean had failed to qualify during his aimless drive around Portland was his ability to deal with other people right then, even if Sam wasn’t really other people. It was fitting that he’d run into his brother now of all times when, between Jessie, Kurt and their respective jobs, they’d seen almost nothing of each other for weeks. The crux of the matter was that Dean would have to explain about Kurt, and probably about Cas and the whole mess of the last few days. He hardly knew how to face it himself, let alone bring Sam into the loop with his earnest puppy eyes, his unending sympathy and likely endless questions as well.

Fortunately, absence had also caused Dean to forget that his brother could read minds, or at least read Dean so well that Sam took one look at him coming through the door and knew what had happened. Or at least part of it, since there probably wasn’t much else that could drive Dean to taking to the streets of Portland wearing only jeans and a pair of aviators. Sammy was sharp like that. All that was missing was the smell of alcohol on Dean’s breath, but that was something he planned to rectify straight away. He’d already liberated the Impala’s emergency stash of cigarettes, tucked away for times like these, and was down to the last few cancer sticks in the pack. Despite having chain-smoked his way around the city for hours-it had to be past midnight-Dean lit another the second his ass hit the couch with a whiskey in hand, staring belligerently at the space Kurt’s body had occupied not so long ago.

Still, Sam’s opener was a little unexpected. “Not that I couldn’t guess, but Kurt told me what happened. I’m so sorry, Dean.” He came to sit beside Dean on the couch, leaning against him not for support, but rather, solidarity. “He called me at work with the short version and said that you left… I guess he wanted to make sure someone was around when you got home.”

The Kurtness of the gesture pissed Dean off so much that he couldn’t even respond except to laugh. “So he told you everything, then? That’s good. Makes my job easier.”

“No, not really,” Sam answered apologetically. “Like I said, I got the short version. He said you’d probably want to fill me in. But I was able to gather that he knows about what we do.”

“Oh, does he ever,” Dean retorted. “Kurt knows so much about hunting that he thinks I should take it up full time again and not look back. Like it’s ever that fuckin’ simple.” He snorted smoke out through his nose like an angry bull, which suited his current state just fine. “I’m so grateful for these people in my life who all think they know what’s best for me, except how it never seems to leave me any happier. Dad, Lisa, Cas, Kurt-even you, Sammy, once upon a time. Everyone knows what’s best for Dean, except for Dean.”

Sam’s lack of response said something about the state of their relationship; he knew well enough not to take this comment to heart. At too many points during their history had the brothers claimed to be acting solely in the other’s best interest, to mixed results, but it seemed to Dean that even when they agreed to stop butting into each other’s lives, there was always someone else willing to step in and start making major judgement calls. Much as with Sammy, all Dean wanted was to get Kurt on the phone and tell him a thing or two about the faults in this line of reasoning-people rarely acted in another person’s best interest, even someone they loved. Except it was kind of hard to accuse Kurt of being selfish when he’d just found out he’d died. That’s what frustrated Dean most, feeling like he’d been dumped by someone not in their right mind. But who was to say Kurt would ever be in his right mind again? He wasn’t a hunter; he wasn’t built to bounce back from dying or experiencing the afterlife like Dean and Sam. Normal people tended to be affected by that stuff.

All it did was reinforce to Dean how far from normal he still was.

Realizing that he was crying again, Dean swiped at his eyes angrily. Sam noticed. “What are you thinking about?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“Fucked if I know,” answered Dean. He took another drag of his cigarette and followed it up with a gulp of whiskey to mask the taste.

“How did any of this come about?” Sam inquired with his brow deeply furrowed. “I know I haven’t seen you in a couple days, but what the hell happened that you and Kurt went from big gay romance to broken up and spilling the beans about hunting?”

Dean sighed, unsure of how much he should reveal, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it occurred to him. He and Kurt were broken up, he reminded himself-there was no sense in withholding information from Sam to protect the guilty. Really, the only think he had to be concerned about was Sam giving him shit for having not involved him sooner. Not that it would have helped anything. “Kurt asked me to move in with him a few days ago,” he began. “He was really excited about it, and so was I, but… I started thinkin’, you know, that maybe it was time that I came clean about our past, put the full disclosure policy into effect so that he knew exactly what he might be walking into.” Dean shrugged. “Ironically, a few vampires chose that moment to start causing shit. Hella effective at illustrating my point to Kurt, but the hunt… It didn’t go so well.”

“Did either of you get hurt? Are you okay? Is Kurt? He sounded okay on the phone, but…”

Dean laughed bitterly. “Yeah, man, we got hurt. If Cas hadn’t shown up you’d be scrapin’ my insides off the sidewalk right about now, and Kurt…” He glanced up at Sam with sudden nervousness. “I went as soon as I could get to him, but it was too late.” Another pull on the cigarette, for strength. “He didn’t make it.”

For a moment Sam just looked at him like he was expecting more, or for Dean to backpedal and wave the whole thing off as some kind of joke in poor taste. When neither of those things happened, Sam’s face crumpled and Dean knew that making it out of this conversation was going to involve wading through his brother’s fully-transferable manpain.

“What did you do?”

“Sam-”

His brother made an aggressive sound. “Don’t bullshit me, Dean,” he hissed. “You have never, in the history of time, been able to let it go when someone you cares about dies. You love him, man, and I doubt he called me from beyond the grave, so tell me. What. You. Did.”

Because Sam was right and they both knew it, Dean had no other response left to him than to scowl into the depths of the quickly dwindling whiskey in his glass. Then he said, “I got Cas to bring him back to life.”

Predictably, Sam stared at him like he’d long held suspicions of Dean’s insanity and was only now receiving proof of it. “You what?”

“Don’t make me repeat it, man,” growled Dean. “I know you heard me, and I know what you’re gonna say, so just… save it. Let’s just agree that you told me so and move on.”

Sam bit his lip. “This isn’t about ‘I told you so’, Dean, it’s about… whatever happened between you and Kurt; hell, whatever happened with you and Cas. How did you even get him to agree to something like that?” He paused to wait for Dean’s response, then seemed to think better of it and gave a sharp shake of his head, holding up a hand. “Wait, don’t answer that. I probably don’t want to know, and-” Trailing off weakly, he looked up at Dean with a shrug and a grim smile. “You don’t like to hear it, but Cas would pretty much do anything for you, dude. Even now.”

Dean grimaced around another swallow of whiskey. This wasn’t drinking for pleasure; he planned to go about it as methodically as possible until he was too drunk to remain conscious. He’d deal with the rest later. “Yeah, well, he didn’t want to do this.”

“But he did.”

Reading some unspoken request in Dean’s posture, so well-hidden that not even Dean realized it was what he wanted, Sam relieved him of the cigarette and whiskey so that he could enfold one of Dean’s hands in both of his. The action immediately made Dean want to comment on how gay Sam was acting, but he stopped himself, not simply because his time with Kurt had made him conscious of even the most innocuous of homophobic utterances, but because the touch was so needed that he wanted to slump with relief.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Sam told him calmly. “I’m just sorry you had to go through this, Dean. I know how you felt about Kurt, even if you’re pissed at him right now. It can’t have been easy.”

“He turned out to be a sanctimonious, condescending prick,” Dean spat. This was unfair, and he knew it, but Dean wasn’t interested in being fair or understanding or kind. He wanted to be angry and cruel because it was better than thinking about how the three major relationships he’d had in his life all ended for the same reason, with him being dumped because of hunting; not even because of hunting, but for it. It made Dean wonder if people honestly cared about him that little, that they couldn’t wait for him to go back to risking uncertain death.

The look Sam gave him was fond, but uncertain. “That’s how you feel right now, Dean, but…”

“What?”

“Kurt never gave you any reason to think that about him before. I’m not saying his rationale isn’t a bit screwey, but you have to admit the guy just went through a lot.” Sam shrugged and squeezed Dean’s hand. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget the people we love aren’t like us; they need more time to sort these things out. Maybe he’ll realize what a huge mistake he made once he’s had a chance to process everything. That is, if you want him to.”

At the thought, Dean shifted uncomfortably. There’d been so much confusion about Kurt and Cas and everything else leading up to this that he hadn’t really stopped to consider what his next step was, now that he no longer had a relationship to consider. With Cas around, it’d been so difficult to think about anything but Cas; with Kurt gone, though, it wasn’t like Dean could just throw a switch and automatically stop being in love with the guy. He loved them both-that was still true. But subtracting Kurt from the equation didn’t simplify matters at all. If anything, Dean felt like it just made things worse, not knowing whether he wanted to move backwards or forwards.

“Does Jessie know about what we do?” he asked Sam instead.

His brother shrugged one of his massive shoulders. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I’ve been toying with the idea of bringing her in the loop, just like you did with Kurt, but… to be honest, Dean, I’ve been thinking a lot about giving it up altogether. The idea of not going out on the road with you anymore bums me out, but I’m seriously considering going back to school, as you know, and a part of me wonders whether hunting still has a place in my life. Nothing’s like it used to be; I don’t think it’s what I want anymore.”

Dean frowned. “You’re always gonna be a hunter, man. It’s a part of you. More than anyone, you should know it’s not just a matter of wiping your hands clean of the job and walking away. It’ll follow you home like a mangy fucking dog.”

After a beat, Sam’s eyes met his. “The thing is, Dean-that’s how you’ve always felt about it. Maybe you’re right, but I don’t have the same desire to keep looking back in the review mirror the way you do, or Dad did. Hell, even Bobby. I’ve never been cut out for the mindset like you guys, and that’s why I was never as good at it until I had no other choice.” His hand withdrew, and came to rest instead upon Dean’s knee. “Maybe you should think about whether Kurt didn’t have a point, man. Even knowing as little about the job as he did, he had to have gotten some sense that he was never going to beat out your first love; if he had a chance to meet Cas, that had to have made it even worse.”

Grimacing, Dean pulled away and said, “I’m not in love with Cas.” Petulantly, he added, “And he doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

Sam smiled in such a way that communicated the extent to which he knew this was bullshit. He stood up, wiping his palms against the legs of his jeans. “He just pulled his own competition out of Heaven because of how much he cares about you, Dean. I’ll never believe he has nothing to do with this, even if you’re still trying to convince yourself. Ditto to the other thing, because it’s been painfully obvious where that’s been headed since Day One.”

Dean didn’t have the courage to argue with that. He let his brother wander out of the room, appreciating Sam’s sensitivity to his moods and that he knew well enough to leave Dean alone for a little bit. As with most breakups, Dean had no fucking clue what to do with himself besides smoke and drink and flick through the various sports games on television that interested him not at all. A large part of him wanted only to sleep, but dreaded going back into his bedroom.

He finished his drink and curled up on the couch instead, eyes squeezed tightly shut as though sleep would come faster if he blocked out all the light and awareness of his surroundings, the bedroom down the hall that probably still smelled of Kurt, still smelled of the sex they’d so recently had before everything fell apart. Dean didn’t want to face it. It was a strange thing to be afraid of, considering the things he’d seen in his life, but Dean wrapped his arms tighter around himself and let the darkness overtake him. Surely he was allowed to be a coward, sometimes.

You had to hand it to Sam-when he wasn’t an emotionless, soulless robot, the guy was a decent break-up wingman. When Dean at first refused to leave the apartment and went without showering for a few too many days than was socially acceptable, Sam alternated between pestering him about his laziness and pestering him about the smell, before barricading Dean in the bathroom altogether. Eventually Dean got bored and frustrated enough to bathe, and that was the end of it. Sam knew how to pick his battles. He didn’t bother Dean about not shaving and kept mum about how often he had to replenish the alcohol cabinet; Dean’s increasingly-long sabbatical from the garage went unremarked upon; meals appeared on the table each morning, noon and night that Sam wasn’t at work, just in case Dean felt like eating-a few of them were even edible. Under no circumstances did the names Kurt or Cas come up in conversation, for which Dean was infinitely grateful, and once, when he pulled up Kurt’s name on his phone in a fit of drunken, depressed pique, noticed his brother had gone through the trouble of changing Kurt’s name to ‘DO NOT CALL HIM’ in subtle reminder. So Dean didn’t. But he wanted to.

The extent to which he wanted to call Cas was about a million times that, and yet the feeling he was betraying someone-Cas or Kurt, he didn’t know-stayed his hand, kept him radio silent as he waffled between thinking too much and trying not to think at all. He wanted to see Kurt angry, wanted Kurt yelling and spitting mad. It’d be easier to let him go that way. Dean had no use for his kindness, his sympathy, the steady-handedness with which he’d cut Dean free. And Cas… well, Cas would just give him the choice, Dean knew, because Cas neither understood nor cared about the human decision-making process that shaped relationships, that started and ended a person’s love. There’d be neither cruelty nor kindness in his question, just waiting; he’d make Dean give one of them up all on his own, a decision that, even now, felt no easier.

That Dean was technically now a free agent was irrelevant, since Cas messed with his ability to compartmentalize like the proverbial wrench in the gears. Hell, he’d been a right mess for months after his first night with Castiel. Even after it became clear it wouldn’t happen again, that Dean was free to go his own way, he never wandered very far, never let himself stray beyond the reach of the angel’s lightning stare. Whether by choice or indecision was irrelevant.

This time, though, he’d made it farther away from shore, farther even than with Lisa and Ben. For a few stolen months with Kurt, he’d refused to keep checking for the horizon from over his shoulder, convinced there’d be land on the other side. So much for that. Cas wasn’t some fucking shore calling him back-he was the goddamned moon. Finding the way back now seemed both inevitable and impossible, and naturally this was something that frustrated Dean greatly, feeling without essential choice but too useless to burn his own path through the overgrown wilderness of his emotions.

Dean didn’t know how much time he needed to figure it out, except that he needed it; then one night Castiel came to him as he slept, standing over him with an expression of uncertain concern on his face as Dean woke slowly and started to register the dawn pricking at the edges of the sky beyond his bedroom window. He started, alarmed by the unexpected visit, and struggled out of the tangled bedclothes so he’d feel at less of a disadvantage. But it took less than one glance at Castiel’s worried face, his tight jeans and rumpled black button-down, to decide Dean in favour of thinking too hard, reaching out to pull the angel into his lap.

This was wasn’t the plan, and he knew it. It was practically rebounding. But, he wondered, did it count if everything else was just a rebound from Castiel in the first place?

Drawn together by Dean’s determined hands, their lips met before Cas had the opportunity to ask whether Dean was all right or what had happened with Kurt-questions Dean had no answers for, anyway. He’s established that much already in the conversation with Sam after it happened, the couple weeks of silence that followed. The sweet pressure of Castiel’s mouth was so much easier than trying to work out the rest, made Dean feel both restless and relieved; he’d been certain the taste of anyone other than Kurt would be too much, too strange, but Cas belonged there, was the real person he’d been waiting on for so much of his life.

Castiel kissed him with an answering hunger and no reservations, shoving his fingers into Dean’s hair so he could angle their mouths against each other more perfectly, taking advantage of Dean’s quiet mewl to slide their tongues together. The texture of Cas’s shirt against his bare chest made Dean want to growl deep in his throat and arch up and up and up until all he could feel was Cas everywhere, but at the first roll of his pelvis Castiel pulled away, keeping Dean’s face at a careful distance with a hand on both of his cheeks, thumbs stroking along the bone. The look on his face could only mean one thing.

“What?”

Though his touch was firm, hesitation lingered in Castiel’s gaze; Dean was so sure Cas knew what he was thinking, he stopped trying to hide it-stopped trying to act like he wasn’t desperate for something to wash him clean of Kurt’s smell and touch and taste. “I’m sorry you’re upset,” Cas said softly. “Despite what I said earlier, I don’t enjoy seeing you this way-not when you left Lisa, and not now. You know I would take this pain away if I could.”

Dean flinched and tightened his grip around the spurs of Castiel’s hips beneath his shirt. “You can. Stop talking and fucking kiss me, already.” But Cas didn’t, going so far as to turn his face away when Dean leaned in again, letting his lips catch his stubbled cheek instead. “What now?” he growled. He wanted to fuck and forget and hopefully let his confusion hit its ass on the door on the way out. The realization of how desperate he was for these things made him sharp and impatient, even though the last time he’d seen Castiel, Dean had been reluctant to let him go in anger.

Eyes still steady, tracking the transparency of Dean’s anger as easily as he might have done a smile, Castiel sighed. “I wonder if I’m the one you want right now, is all.”

Dean jerked his chin out of Castiel’s grasp. “I always want you, Cas,” he said gruffly, “and not just when it’s convenient. Otherwise I would have never fucking touched you.” To his own ears, he didn’t sound too pleased about the fact; not in the face of everything they’d been through recently. Cas said nothing else, and when a moment of silence had passed, Dean growled in frustration and wrestled the angel out of his lap and onto the mattress beside him. Unsurprisingly, Cas took this change of plans with the usual amount of equanimity, gazing at Dean impassively as he exclaimed, “Fuck this.”

“To what are you referring?”

Burying his face in his hands before Cas could notice his furious tears, Dean shied away from the gentle hand that landed on his shoulder. “Everything, Cas. Just… go. I don’t need you here.” He thought his voice sounded steady, if muffled, but didn’t have the energy or the wherewithal to resist when Castiel ignored the dismissal and pulled Dean into an embrace instead, tugging him down into his lap. He was so fucking tired; the weight didn’t even feel like exhaustion anymore, having made its way from anger and fear and grief into sheer numbness, a cold in his veins he couldn’t shake.

Cas bundled him close so he could wrap his arms around Dean, hunched over. It was awkward but not uncomfortable, for all he was being cradled like a baby, and Dean turned to bury his face into the shirt covering Castiel’s belly, shifting until he lay on his side with his head and shoulders resting on Castiel thighs. Not that he’d admit it out loud, but it felt reassuring and safe to be held like this, kind of like when they’d woken up in bed together after the alley. When Cas’s hand ghosted over the handprint on Dean’s shoulder, it sent a low pulse through his blood that was more soothing than arousing.

“I’m just so sick of this happening,” he mumbled, lost to the feel of Cas’s hands stroking skin and hair simultaneously. It was an incredible relief to start talking without having to explain what the hell he was on about, knowing Cas would get it. “Everyone thinks they know what the hell is best for me, and no one’s been right yet.”

For a moment Castiel was silent and still except for the movement of his hands and the gentle rise and fall of his stomach against Dean’s cheek as he breathed. He smelled like lemon and mint. Then Cas said, “You are greatly loved, Dean. Those who care about you have only ever acted out of concern for your well-being. I include myself in this. Even if you don’t always believe it.”

“Yeah, well, I’d really fucking appreciate it if ‘those who care about me’ would just stop and let me live my life the way I want.” He sniffled unimpressively and sighed. “Sam, Lisa, Kurt, you… all these decisions ever seem to achieve is stickin’ me with the short end. Just once, I’d like someone to suggest the best thing for me is to just do what I want, and fuck all the rest.”

“I take it that isn’t what Kurt said.”

Dean snorted. “Nice guess, Sherlock. Nope, he read me the same goddamn riot act as Lisa, about how I’m not happy away from my old life and really should hop back to it. Alone.”

Almost like he didn’t want Dean to hear what he had to say next, Cas’s fingers settled over his ear for a second before shying away. “This is something I agree with,” he told Dean softly. “As I said to you at the morgue. The appeal of a normal life is understandable after all you have been through, but it’s not what you were born for. Nor is it something others can easily live with. Not like us, or Bobby or Sam. Anyone can learn to kill a monster and decide it’s not for them; so few can accept the loneliness of this calling so that others don’t have to.” Dean felt him swallow. “But I don’t want you to be alone. I meant what I said, before. I’d be willing to return with you to that life, if you thought…” He trailed off, but his meaning was pretty clear to Dean. The sigh that punctuated his uncertainty puffed out from him in a short, nervous huff.

Shuffling around on to his back again, so he could see more of Castiel’s expression, Dean caught the angel’s hand when the suddenly-awkward movements of his fingers became too distracting. “What?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “I would like for you to be happy, Dean, in the life that is meant for you. And I would like to be happy with you.” Face stricken, Cas glanced down at him with his blue eyes wide and startled, like he couldn’t believe what he’d said. A moment later, he appeared to be struggling to find the right words to say next. “The last few years have not been enjoyable for me,” he murmured. “If you aren’t built for a life of normalcy, Dean, then… I don’t think I’m built for a life that doesn’t have you in it, either. I miss how it was. And I think you miss it, also.”

Lying there on his back was starting to make Dean feel ridiculous, especially when he couldn’t think of where to begin in formulating a response. His heart clenched once, painfully, but he wasn’t able to enjoy the implications of Cas’s words before his brain took over and flaunted every ugly reminder of why they were here in the first place. He struggled to sit up and turned to face Castiel on the bed, one hand braced and clutching the wooden headboard to ground himself.

“I’ve been saying for months that I miss it, Cas,” he grit out. The awareness that Cas was trying to understand tempered Dean’s anger somewhat, but didn’t extinguish it completely. He knew Cas probably didn’t get why all this was so important, why Dean was struggling to overcome his feelings for Kurt when he could just as easily move on. Cas would think it was better for everyone if they just put it behind them; that he wasn’t yet urging Dean to do so was quietly touching, especially since patience wasn’t the angel’s strong suit.

“I was trying even longer than that to get things back to how they were, to have you a part of our lives like old times,” he pointed out. A strangled laugh escaped him, recalling his own delirious confession of love, the subsequent revelation that Cas had known all along but had never bothered to meet him halfway. “Now you want me to ditch Sammy and skip town with you, because it’ll make you happy? Because it’s on your own goddamn terms? I’ve been in love with you for fucking ever, and you just left me here to suffer and believe you just weren’t interested.”

Something in Castiel’s face darkened, a muscle leapt in his cheek. “It’s never been on my terms,” he huffed. “Admittedly, I handled it poorly by not coming to talk to you myself. But the last time I tried to be with you like you wanted, I Fell.” Dean stared at him for a second, appreciating Castiel’s anger but not knowing its source. “I’m an angel. I would like to stay an angel. For once I couldn’t accept having to sacrifice that in order to be your lover, your pet. Nor should you expect me to.”

At this, Dean recoiled, hands up defensively. “Whoa, whoa. I have never asked you to Fall for me, Cas. You might be more of a prick when you’ve got wings, but I don’t want you to turn yourself into some messed-up, junkie human for my sake, either. I just wanted you around. A part of my life, not some figment of my imagination who only shows up when it’s convenient and ignores me the rest of the time. I started dating Kurt because he was here, not because I’ve really wanted some boring-ass human dude this whole time. I fell for you as an angel, and now you’re trying to tell me I’ve been pressuring you to change this whole time? Nuh-uh.”

Cas leaned in close, voice rough and breaking around the edges. “Maybe you wouldn’t have asked me outright,” he said, “but what do you think would have happened after a year of us sharing a bed, of you living out this so-called ‘Apple Pie’ life while I continued my work elsewhere or for long stretches of time?” He gave Dean a knowing look. “Come on, Dean, you know as well as I do how you would have felt after a little while. You would have started to resent my absences, would have started to hate the fact there was nothing to distract you from your own boredom and unhappiness. It’s happened before.” Leaning back, he gazed at Dean from down his nose in that way he had that was just so Cas, and with which Dean found difficult to argue. “We would have fought endlessly on the subject, and eventually I would have given up and stayed. Because that is what I always do when I see you alone and unhappy. I stay, and I give myself over to you, and in time I would have stopped being an angel altogether. Would have lost my own happiness and sense of purpose to join you in yours.”

“Sounds like you have that all figured out,” Dean retorted, throat tight. As much as he wanted to rant and contradict Castiel’s version of things, his voice dried up at the thought; Cas had a point, and a good one.

Even before Dean knew how he felt about the guy, back when they’d been virtual strangers to each other except for their inexplicable connection, he’d been so confused and overwhelmed by the desire for Castiel’s presence, he forgot not to make it personal. It was such a rare thing for Dean to feel any sense of calm around another person, even someone not human, he knew it made him testy and possessive. Clingy, even. The mere thought of that word made him blush in shame, but at least Cas had the good grace not to say it out loud. Stranger still, he didn’t even seem to care, except for whatever harm he felt Dean was doing to himself.

“There was no need for me to figure anything out,” Cas told him. Dean saw his facial muscles twitch as Cas tried-visibly struggled-to keep his voice patient and kind. It was admirable, all things considered. Dean had always admired Castiel’s restraint, even if he didn’t always appreciate the effort it took, or the fact that it was frequently for his own oblivious benefit. “I’ve seen how depression takes its toll on you. You try to pretend it doesn’t exist, instead cleave too tightly to the important things that are left in your life. Like Sam, or Kurt-even me. And I would have struggled to keep you happy in a life devoid of meaning until it made both of us wretched, when instead you could just do what gives you purpose and joy. Just like Kurt said. One person isn’t enough to make your life worthwhile, Dean-you have to feel that way on your own, because of what you do for yourself. Not even an angel is enough, if you don’t have that.”

Still blushing furiously, Dean jerked his head in a nod and looked down at his hands, unable to deny or argue anything Cas had said, but unable to meet his gaze any longer, either. Tears stung and threatened at the corners of his eyes. “My whole life, I’ve never thought about how to make myself happy, Cas. It’s always been what I can do or sacrifice for other people, for my dad and Sammy and everyone else-I don’t resent that, man, I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t.” Cas tilted his head and gave Dean a fond look. “It’s what’s so remarkable about you.”

Dean shook his head vehemently. “Don’t bullshit me. All it’s led to is a bunch of stupid decisions and an inability to know what the fuck I want.”

“Then perhaps you should begin to consider it.”

Easier said than done, thought Dean. “Why didn’t you just tell me all this at the time, huh? Why let me go on thinking one thing when it was so obviously wrong?”

One of Castiel’s hands reached out to cup Dean’s jaw in a gesture that was almost painfully intimate, raw even after the shit they’d been through. “I didn’t think you would understand. You were so determined to be normal, to pretend like you weren’t miserable, I didn’t have the heart to tell you it wasn’t working. We both know it wasn’t-Sam knew it, too, even Bobby, but as you so blithely pointed out earlier, we have all misguided you at one point or another in the past, even unintentionally. I thought you would just take additional interference as further lack of faith in you on my part.” Fingers stroked his jaw. “Though this is one thing I don’t lack,” he said. “You could be so happy, if you wanted to be. The Apocalypse is over, Sam is safe… It’s time to stop worrying about everyone else and decide what you want for you.” Glancing up, Dean noticed that Cas had shifted closer, so close that their mouths were almost touching. “Give me a chance to find that with you, Dean.”

Though he swallowed, Dean let his eyes drift shut at the hopeful promise in Castiel’s words. And then, with the sort of broken honesty he didn’t know how to avoid anymore, “I don’t know if I’m ready to jump back in the saddle again so soon.” The thought of Kurt still stung, and though Dean still felt like this was self-betrayal on his part, he tried to remind himself that it wasn’t unreasonable to be hurt, to honour the love they’d shared for what it was. He’d get over it eventually, like he always did, but maybe right now it was okay to feel sad and empty and overwhelmed by what Cas was offering, and just the slightest bit hopeful that it’d come together in time. Cas would always be there, he knew, because that’s who Cas was, even when Dean wanted him gone. Constant. A little while longer wouldn’t hurt.

Wrinkling his nose, Cas frowned. “What saddle?”

Dean gestured between them in an unhelpful way. “Us. Running off together into the goddamn sunset like Butch freakin’ Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. We’ve only had sex twice and I’ve already said ‘I love you’ a bunch of times. It may be a bit soon, not when I haven’t really figured out all this Kurt stuff yet.”

Cas looked thoughtful and understanding and relieved all at once. There was a long pause as he considered what to say next. “My intent isn’t to rush you,” he replied at last, “nor to force something before its time. I’m talking about going back to what we’re good at, Dean, even if that doesn’t include more than friendship. Let’s just look at what’s out there and see what happens.” He shrugged a little and risked a smile, a disarming twist of his lips that didn’t entirely look like it knew what it was doing on his face. “We could each continue our work-there are people who need saving elsewhere in the world, after all. We could find them together. Help them together.”

The suggestion made Dean realize how little of the world he’d seen. Even after years travelling every dusty, gritty and crowded road in America, it was an intimidating thought, but sent a quiet thrill through him to realize that Cas really was thinking big-picture, not about holding Dean back. Not like Dean had been holding himself back, at any rate. Funny how he could feel so petrified and curious by the prospect all at once. He shivered all the same.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked. “That we take this show abroad?”

Shrugging, Cas closed the last little distance between them and kissed Dean chastely on the lips. His hand covered Dean’s cheek and his eyes were bright. “I’m saying we could do anything we wanted, anything at all. Whatever feels right. You won’t regret it.” He smiled once, beatifically, and made an utterly foreign noise, for all Dean felt he hadn’t heard it in ages-a laugh. Cas looked so grateful and pleased that Dean felt himself smiling in response, worn down and exhausted and broken, but also full of hope. Cas was infectious that way. In a sense, it’s what had drawn Dean to him in the first place, that unflinching determination to find not just a better way, but another existence. Damned if it didn’t make Dean want to set aside his own reservations and jump in with both feet, right beside him.

“You sound really sure about that, Cas,” he murmured.

Though he bit his lip to stifle the optimism of his expression-it was faint, little more than a lingering sparkle in his eye, a slight flush of excitement in his cheeks-Dean could tell Castiel wasn’t fooled by his reluctance, knew Dean recognized the truth and wisdom of his words. Knew, also, that Dean could feel how right they sounded after so many years of getting it wrong. “I feel sure about it,” Cas told him. “Perhaps it’s possible for us to find freedom and peace at the same time, after all.”

A shudder ran down Dean’s spine at the words, and he sighed. It was a long shot, but something in his chest fluttered wildly and then settled, a quiet presence that for once felt like it belonged there, not a weight that held him down as it sank slowly to the sea-bed. “You used to think those two things were mutually exclusive,” he pointed out. “Peace or free will, but never both. What changed, that you’re suddenly so gung-ho to go burning the map again?”

Castiel’s touch left Dean’s face to find his hand, fingers wrapping firmly around his and squeezing. “At the time I didn’t trust myself enough to think I could have them both,” Cas answered seriously. The creases on his face as he stopped again to think were so perturbed and heart-twisting that Dean couldn’t stop himself from reaching up to touch them, a warm caress that made Cas sigh and turn his face into the palm of Dean’s hand to murmur against the skin. “It seemed arrogant and foolish to expect so much, not after I’d just been brought back by some miracle. I wish I had, though-so much could have been avoided, and I never would have left you to go off on your own. I would have made you stay. But that was then, and I’ve been wrong before.”

Dean hummed quietly in disagreement. They were both at fault for that one, each of them having walked away despite the screaming of every instinct not to do so. Sure, it could have saved them a lot of time and trouble, but that was the story of their lives, really-and hearing Cas express his regrets to this end, Dean found, made up for a great deal of the pain and confusion he’d felt during that time, slinking off to Lisa’s as he tried to pretend Cas hadn’t taken a chunk of Dean with him when he returned to Heaven.

“We’ve both been wrong,” he sighed, and shifted his body down the bed until he was lying half-propped against Castiel’s body, curled against his side. After a moment, Cas got the hint and slipped an arm around Dean’s shoulders so they were both comfortable. It felt easy. This was easy. Dean decided he was allowed to go with it and not think any harder for the rest of night, not even about the fact that they were, for all intents and purposes, cuddling. “You can stay now,” he said. “That’s starting somewhere.”

Cas stayed. Dean slept. For the first time in weeks, all he dreamed about was the moon, and the dark slopes of a far-off shore coming into view from across the waves.

TBC