SPN: "But, Honestly" - 4/11
Title: Micro Cuts
Author: omnomster
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: Dean/future!Cas
Spoilers: 5.04 - “The End”
Warnings: Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Strong Language, sexual themes
Word Count: 5,258
Summary: Perhaps getting drunk wasn’t a good idea.
AN: Hey! Sorry this took so long… I was actually finally catching up with SPN since I only had all of season 7 and a little of season 6 left to watch. Now that I am caught up, though, I have plenty of fuel for fic! But I do start working next week, so we’ll see how that affects my writing schedule. Let’s hope it won’t! Thank you for reading, and thanks to my beta, Laura!
Chapters: 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | +
Micro Cuts
Everybody liked Sam. How could they not? He was a nice kid and smart, though he could be a little nerdy sometimes. Overall, though, he was a good guy with lots of friends. Dean had never been so thankful for that as he was now.
It was easy enough to convince his brother to stay out with his friends for a bit. He really didn’t want Sam and Cas to be in the same building together, let alone the same room. He wasn’t afraid of them fighting or anything; Dean just didn’t know what to expect of his old friend. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if the guy came over and offered the little Winchester a joint.
Once Sam had left, the older brother spent the next several hours roaming the tiny apartment, cleaning, and hiding the beer. It probably wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like Castiel’s apartment was the epitome of cleanliness. He’ll probably be so high, he won’t even notice if there was fucking slime dripping down the walls, Dean thought somewhat bitterly. Hiding the beer undoubtedly wasn’t necessary, either. From the looks of things, his old friend kept himself in a constant drug or alcohol-induced stupor-at least when he wasn’t working.
As Dean prepared his home, he tried to avoid confronting the pang of guilt in his gut. The cleaning distracted him well enough, classic rock and static blasting from the small stereo on the kitchen counter. By the time five o’ clock rolled around, everything had been scrubbed eight times, and the bottles of alcohol had traveled from the front of the fridge to the back behind the bottles of pop to the cupboard to beneath the sink. The Chinese food had been ordered (it wasn’t like Dean could actually cook). There was nothing else to do, but wait.
Before the shame brought itself to the forefront of his brain, Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala and headed out. He’d get to Cas’ forty-five minutes early, but that’d be okay. He wasn’t about to just sit around here and think about how his friend didn’t go to church anymore and was covered in tattoos and smoked pot and had sex and how it was all probably Dean’s fault.
He pulled up to the building. For a few moments, he was able to sit silently in the car, the faint sounds of Metallica floating from the speakers. But he found that he couldn’t even take that. Before he knew what he was doing, Dean went to the front stoop and called apartment 26.
“Hello?” The answer had come surprisingly quick, perhaps two seconds after Dean had pressed the call button.
The Winchester looked surprised, glancing about for a moment before clearing his throat. “Hey. It’s Dean. Sorry, I’m here kinda-“
“I’ll be right down.”
Oh. The brunette frowned, then shrugged it off. He only needed to wait a minute before an out-of-breath Castiel was pushing the door open, three huge bottles of alcohol cradled in his arms. They flashed each other smiles, Dean still surprised by how fast the response had been. His friend looked a little more sober now. His blue eyes appeared less bloodshot, and the smell of cinnamon signaled that he’d gotten a shower. Dark hair, still damp, stuck to his forehead and around his ears. The scent of whiskey on his breath was only slightly covered by a minty toothpaste. He was even dressed well, with dark jeans and a loose button-up top that made him almost presentable.
“I brought drinks!” Cas grinned, moving his shoulders in attempted gesture towards his arms.
Dean raised his head slightly, a dubious smirk on his face. “Uh… Great. That’s a lot of booze for two people, though, don’t you think?”
They walked back to the car, Castiel right at his friend’s heels. “What? Don’t tell me you can’t hold your liquor anymore?” he asked, the corner of his lips twitching up teasingly.
He opened the car door with some difficulty, and Dean watched amusedly and without offering help. When his friend was finally in the car, the brunette softly chuckled and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Of course I can. Historically, though, you haven’t been able to sip a friggin’ martini without getting trashed.”
The engine roared to life and the passenger settled the three bottles in his lap. He leaned back, adjusting the seat so that he’d be comfortable. After a good stretch, he put his hands behind his neck, staring ahead as Dean carefully pulled out into the street.
Cas shrugged, forehead wrinkling as he grimaced slightly. “Time changes people, I guess.”
To avoid conversation on the way to his home, Dean turned up the radio, Blue Oyster Cult filling the silence. Dean was shocked to hear the passenger’s voice join his own and Eric Bloom’s. Had Castiel-Castiel-really just started singing to BOC?
“Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper, baby take my hand, don’t fear the-Dean!”
The driver slammed down on the brakes, eyes wide as he saw that he’d almost rear-ended the guy ahead of him. For almost ten seconds, he’d been staring at the bobbing head of his friend, singing to a song that Dean had never thought the guy would have known in a million years. Now, he took a steadying breath, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
“Fuck,” he whispered, shaking his head.
The rest of the drive, he didn’t look at Cas once.
When they got to the apartment, the dark-haired young man placed the bottles of alcohol on the kitchen island. After locking the door, Dean walked over to them, picking one up to examine it. Vodka, strawberry rum, and tequila. Interesting combo, he thought, placing the bottle of rum back down. Castiel was already making himself at home, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet and rooting around the fridge.
“No fruit juice? How am I supposed to make a proper drink?” he tsked, head half in the refrigerator. He closed the door with a sigh, straightening back up. “Well, looks like we’ll have to take it straight.”
He brought the cups over, filling each half with rum and half with tequila. Glancing up at Dean, the young man let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“When you’re a bartender and all your friends are bartenders, it’s pretty easy to get this stuff,” he said, answering the other’s look.
He capped a bottle and handed a glass to his friend. Dean tentatively took it, taking a sip. It wasn’t too terrible, but definitely strong. Even if he could hold his alcohol pretty well, it would still only take a few glasses before he was out of his head. Cas seated himself at one of the old barstools in front of the island, and Dean took his place beside him.
“So, Dean. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken to each other,” the blue-eyed man said. His voice had lost all of its previous lightness, having become somber.
Dean stared purposefully at the sink a few feet in front of him. Castiel stared at the fridge, eyes shifting every few seconds to look at Dean. It was hard to assess the mood of the quietness. They each felt it was like that awkward, tense silence that ensues on a bad first date, when neither person knows what to talk about. Cas was able to find some comfort in it, though, even if it was hidden beneath mountains of awkward.
The Winchester was still trying to get used to the deepness of his friend’s voice, which had changed so much from their middle school days. Something familiar in the tone, however, seemed to bring him a bit of comfort, and his posture relaxed just slightly.
“Yeah, it has,” he agreed, still refusing to look at Cas. He took a slow drink before his eyes went to his cup. For a moment, he contemplated apologizing. That idea was wiped clear of his mind quickly, though. Things were going well so far; it’d be best not to mess it up. “It’s good to see you, though. Hell, I thought…” His words drifted off. What could he say? “I thought I’d never see you again.”
He cleared his throat, then finally forced himself to turn and face his friend. “I thought you’d have gotten out of this place. You always talked about how much you hated it here,” he offered with a sad smile.
A low, grim chuckle trembled in the other young man’s throat. He grinned and shook his head, matching Dean’s gaze. “I thought I’d have left, too. But when my grades went to shit…” He stopped himself, before going on to say, “Let’s make it a drinking game.”
The complete turn in conversation left the green-eyed man briefly confused. He blinked a few times and shook his head, body expressing his sudden confusion.
“Let’s…Wait, what?”
“A drinking game,” the other responded easily. “We take turns asking questions. Before you answer, you have to take a drink. If you don’t want to answer a question, you take two. If you repeat a question that’s already been asked, you take three. Sound good?”
Dean sniffed and shook his head. “Alright,” he chuckled, still not sure what had brought this on. “Why not?”
The thin man reached across and grabbed the bottle of rum. He refilled Dean’s glass with a devious smile, and then said, “That’s one drink for you, Dean.”
They went back and forth with trivial, superficial inquiries. Shit like “What’s your favorite color?” or “Who’s your favorite rock group?” That went on for almost an hour before they began to run out of safe questions and tact. Many answers had cropped up conversation and old memories, which they’d emphatically recall for the other.
The game started with the rum, which had a relatively low alcohol level (Thank God, because they’d already gone through the whole damn bottle). Dean was starting to feel the buzz, the strange sensations in his limbs. It’d take more than that to get him drunk, though. Tequila was the next thing to fill Dean’s glass, and a sniff told him that it was definitely stronger. He kept eying the huge bottle of vodka, though. If they managed to get to that without their livers exploding, it was going to burn his throat like a son of a bitch.
“Hmm…Question…” Castiel closed his eyes, humming slightly as he tried to think of something. It was obvious that he’d begun to feel good, too, just by the way smiles would randomly flicker onto his lips. “What’s the worst sex you’ve ever had?”
Dean gave a devious grin, shaking his head and laughing. He took a shot, then gave a shrug. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have bad sex.”
Incredulous, Cas dropped his jaw and punched Dean in the arm. “You fucking liar… Come on, Dean Winchester, sexpert, must have had some bad sex in his life.”
Green eyes shone brightly, pink lips spreading into a big grin. He glanced down at his cup and filled the bottom with tequila again. “There was this time in Oakland… Me and this girl were in the supply closet at the high school. Let’s just say she was very inexperienced, and after fifteen minutes, just as she started getting excited, her damn dad opens the door. Did I mention her dad was also the superintendent? Good for me, we were moving the next day, anyway. Boy, was that awkward.”
The dark-haired man shook his head, still laughing quietly. “Your intelligence astounds me, Dean.”
They both took a moment to let their giggles die out. The Winchester didn’t make any more comments on the situation, just asked, “What about you? What’s been your best sex?”
Somehow, Castiel’s smile managed to grow even bigger. He took a drink, and opened his mouth like he was going to answer. Instead, he filled his cup again and took another drink.
“No! Oh, come on, Cas!” Dean cried, slamming his open palms on the island and his face disbelieving, “Not cool! I tell you about my worst, but you won’t even tell me about your best? What is this? That is… That is more than a fair trade!”
The man just shook his head, giving his friend his best shit-eating grin. “Sorry. Besides, I don’t think it’d be your kind of thing, anyway. My turn.” He filled his glass again. “Lessee… What… You do alcohol, right?”
“Yes, Cas. I’d say I, uh, do alcohol,” he replied, amused.
“What about drugs? You ever try anything? You ever dance with Mary Jane or pop some PCP?”
The words had a somewhat sobering effect on Dean. He cleared his throat and turned slightly in his chair, so that he wasn’t completely facing Cas anymore. “Nah. Booze is one thing, but drugs? That shit can mess you up bad,” he said after his shot, the last trace of a smile disappearing from his face. He didn’t let the silence linger between them too long, however. Before Cas could argue that heroin was the single best thing out there, Dean asked, “So… How many women have you slept with?”
Cas took a shot.
“Total? Only like… Huh, I’m not sure. A hundred, maybe?”
Violent choking noises fought their way out of Dean’s mouth. The mere absurdity of the words left him gagging on his own saliva. A few hits to the chest and he was coughing, trying to get air back into his lungs and ignore the fact that Castiel was losing his mind to laughter.
“H-h-h…A hundred?” He looked to his friend, who was laughing so hard his face was red (or perhaps his face was red from the alcohol; it was hard to tell). “Cas, there’s… There’s no way.”
It took a moment, but the man was able to calm himself down enough to answer. “It’s true! I mean, obviously some girls are regulars. Meg and I have been fucking for almost a year now, and she keeps me stocked with the prescription pills. It’s really hard to keep track of all the people you fuck, though. I mean, they’re coming in and out all the time, y’know? Can’t possibly remember all those faces.”
The doorbell rang. Waves of relief washed over Dean as he stood up. “That must be the food,” he said, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
As he paid the delivery person, the young man took a moment to regret ever having asked that question. Not only was hearing Cas use “fuck” as a verb friggin’ weird as hell, hearing him talk about having sex with one hundred women was just flat out ridiculous. He brought over the stereotypical red and white boxes, dropping one in front of Cas with a pair of plastic-wrapped chopsticks.
“We’re eatin’ fancy tonight,” he grunted, then sat down beside his friend again.
He took a moment to note that he was getting drunk. The alcohol was going to his head, and he couldn’t fathom being awake long enough to take on the full bottle of vodka that was still waiting for them. Cas eagerly tore into the Chinese food, eating it quickly and occasionally giving little groans of pleasure due to how good the food was. Honestly, the sounds made Dean uncomfortable, but he was too busy stuffing his own face and trying not to think about Cas sleeping with every woman within a five-block radius.
They were quiet while they ate, both enraptured by the surprisingly delicious take-out. Dean made a note in his brain that said he’d have to order it again. He pulled the chopsticks apart, then fitted them in his hand before going to grab at some of the noodles in his box. Apparently, the utensils were drunk-proof, because every time he attempted to pull up a noodle, it’d slide right out of his grasp.
Cas watched out of the corner of his eye. His box was hugged to his chest, right below his chin, and he was shoveling rice and chicken into his mouth like it was the easiest thing in the world. Trying to hold back some giggles, the visitor focused his gaze on the contents of his container. Blue eyes continued to flick up to watch, though, holding amusement.
“Dammit!” Dean cried, slamming the paper box onto the island.
He sat there for a moment, frustrated, not looking at the glob of noodles and vegetables that had just landed in his lap. He grabbed a napkin and started picking them off his lap, muttering something offensive below his breath. Castiel began to snicker, bowing his head for a moment to hide his face. When he looked up, it was with innocent enjoyment at the situation.
“You’re a dumbass,” he pointed out.
Green eyes narrowed, Dean went and grabbed a plastic fork out of one of the kitchen drawers. When he sat back down, his friend raised his eyebrows.
“Plasticware, Dean?”
“Yes, plasticware. You don’t have to clean it, and you can just throw it away and buy more when you’re done.”
Cas nodded slightly, still smiling. The rest of the meal was had in silence, with the visitor’s blue eyes curiously looking at Dean every few seconds. If the other noticed, he didn’t let on. When the empty boxes and utensils were thrown away, the game began again as the two filled their glasses.
“My turn to ask a question,” said the guest, rolling his cup between his hands. The smile barely lingered on his face, and he stared ahead. A new attitude had fallen over him. He opened his mouth, but closed it as he thought better of what he’d wanted to ask. “Where are you going to be working, now that you’re back?”
“Singer Salvage Yard. Bobby’s an old friend of my dad, so I’m going to be working for him, fixing up cars, that kind of crap,” he replied after a shot, beginning to sound a little inebriated.
“Bobby Singer… He’s a good man. I wouldn’t want to work for him, though.”
“A job’s a job, right?” Dean shrugged. “Anyway, on my way up to your apartment earlier, someone said that you were getting a new roommate. What’s that about? Do Meg and Blondie not live with you?”
Cas shook his head. “No, the girls don’t. Rent’s starting to creep up, so I thought I might as well get a roommate. You remember Uriel, don’t you? From school?”
Green eyes squinted in disgust, a matching sound leaving the man’s throat. “That jackass? Yeah, I know him. Can’t see him living in your neighborhood, though. Dude’s got a righteous stick up his ass, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, I guess you could say that,” Castiel chuckled. “He actually volunteered. Said he wants to ‘set me’… heh, ‘set me straight’!” Suddenly he was laughing hysterically, but there was no joy in it, only a sick, grim amusement. “Imagine!” He shook his head again, then took his appropriate drink.
Dean found the laughter unsettling. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, gripping his cup like a safety blanket.
“But I don’t think I’ll be taking him in… I don’t need him chasing away every hot piece of ass and new underground drug that comes to my doorstep.”
The man’s blue eyes sparkled for a moment as he stretched out his limbs. The grim smile suddenly dropped from his face and he turned to look at Dean directly. He cocked his head to the side, his forehead wrinkling slightly as he tensed his brow.
There was that guilt, again, beating against Dean’s skull. This man, who was practically a stranger now, was suddenly the spitting image of what he’d used to be: a curious, innocent teenager. But there was something added to it. It wasn’t just genuine, lighthearted interest coating his face; there was something darker there that the Winchester couldn’t place.
“Over five years have passed… What is the best thing that’s happened to you since then? I’m sure… I’m sure that good things’ve happened to you…So what was the best?”
Dean suddenly looked confused. He turned to face his friend, obviously not understanding why this question was being asked. He couldn’t take staring at those eyes, though, those ocean-colored hues that bore into his soul like tiny, shame-inducing drills. Taking a shot distracted him for a moment, allowed him a moment to think.
“I…I don’t know,” he admitted, gaze locked on the sink again. “Really, nothing great has happened. Same shit, different places. I guess the best thing that’s happened to me… Well, I guess the best thing that’s happened to me is movin’ back here.”
The visitor’s face didn’t change. For a moment, Dean thought that he’d fallen asleep, but Castiel slowly reached across and refilled the man’s glass. A soft sigh and the brunette drank.
“So…” he cleared his throat. Dean ran a hand through his hair and over his eyes. His vision was swimming. His limbs were tingling. He could barely keep a thought. “You said your grades went down? What exact-“
The two men turned in unison as the front door opened. Cas’ brows raised slightly, and the edges of his lips twitched up. Emerging from the doorway, Sam gave a sheepish smile, waving. The other Winchester looked ready to have a heart attack, glancing back and forth between the other two in the room. Finally, he jumped to his feet, almost falling down in the process. His brother smirked and shook his head.
“You two having fun?” he asked, gaze flickering between the two. He took a few steps into the room, slightly uneasy as he looked at the visitor. “Hey, Cas. It’s been awhile… You look… You look good.”
The man snickered in response, but didn’t attempt to get off of his stool. “You look good, too, Sam. Are you doing well in school?”
“Oh… Y-yeah, doing great. Actually, I-“
“Sammy, why don’t you head on over to your room? School starts tomorrow, and we want to make sure you get plenty of sleep!” Dean chirped.
He stumbled over to his brother, clasping a hand on the boy’s shoulder with a sloppy grin. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes, pushing Dean away.
“You’re drunk,” he stated simply, but walked towards his bedroom anyway. “You two behave. Dean, I don’t want to hold your hand and clean up your vomit tomorrow.”
The words were accentuated with the shutting of his door. Dean took in a deep breath, then frowned. “Bitch,” he muttered. He staggered back to his seat and sighed, shaking his head. “Ugh, who’s turn is it?” he groaned, rubbing his face.
“You’re asking me ‘bout my grades,” Cas replied pleasantly, speech slightly slurred.
“Oh… Right,” he nodded, knitting his eyebrows together. “So, why’d your grades go down? I mean, you’ve always been a smart guy.” He turned to look at Cas, searching for some kind of sign on his face.
The other remained impassive, however. “It just wasn’t for me. I was dealing with a lot of shit, and school seemed like just the biggest waste of time.” He brushed his hands through his newly dried hair, tufts sticking out from his head in all directions. He took his drink, then sat momentarily in thought. “What’s the first dream you ever remember having?”
Flashes of fire danced in Dean’s head. He swallowed hard at the question, mind immediately removed from analyzing the answer he’d be given. Two shots were taken, accompanied by a soft moan.
“Damn, this stuff’s strong,” he muttered, trying to ignore the corrosive stare he was receiving. “So, ah… So…” He needed a question. Needed one quick to stop Cas from giving him that damn look. “What happened between you and Michael? At church, he seemed pretty ticked off at just the mention of you.”
Well, that certainly changed the man’s expression. His countenance was quickly overcome with a bitter disgust, and he quickly shook his head. Cas took a quick drink, the shot glass being slammed a little violently back onto the plastic counter.
“He kicked me out of the house. Told me that if I ever showed my face at his doorstep again, he’d…” Something caught in his throat, but he hid it with a fierce scowl. “That bastard won’t even let me see my little brother. Says I’ll ‘taint him’ or some bullshit like that. Michael is…He’s just…”
He breathed in sharply through his nose, a sign that Dean recognized from being childhood friends to mean that he might start crying.
“Hey, hey! It’s okay, man,” he said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He could feel the sharp bones of his shoulder sticking through his skin, a gross reminder of how thin Castiel had become. Dean frowned, a torn look on his face. “Who needs him, right? I’ve never liked him, anyway. He’s always come off like a sleazy politician.”
The other man sniffed and took in a deep breath. “I don’t need him. That’s for sure.” He glanced up, noticing that the rum was a little over half gone. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and used that, instead, to refill his cup. “What about your father? Y’been able to sort out your differences at all?”
Drink. Shudder. Close eyes. “Heh. Well, ’m livin’ here, aren’t I? I only got to leave with Sammy, ‘cause I was able to bug the shit out of Dad. He’s pro’bly thankful we’re out of his hair, now.”
The visitor nodded in understanding. “You don’t need him. You’ve always been able to take care of your brother by yourself.”
Dean smirked and shook his head. Wasn’t that the truth! The next question flowed easily out of his mouth, on his mind since the moment his friend had spoken. “Cas…What’d Michael say to you?”
No answer. Two shots.
Silence again. It seemed that every shot multiplied the silent guilt stewing in Dean’s belly. He glared at his hands, fiddling with his thumbs. The noiselessness dragged on forever, slowly clawing at Dean’s thoughts, trying to force him into apologizing. Unfortunately, he didn’t even need to bring it up.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you were leaving?” The voice that asked was soft and scared.
Cas turned his entire body to face Dean, and the Winchester thought that he was suddenly incredibly, uncomfortably close. He could feel the heat of his friend’s stare digging into his face, searching for any semblance of an answer. The green eyes didn’t dare to try to meet the gaze, either. He couldn’t handle that. So, instead, he took a drink, then began pouring his second.
“No.”
Castiel grabbed the bottle in Dean’s hand and slammed it back down. They were forced to look at one another, and everything expressed in the dark-haired man’s face was everything that Dean had feared: confusion, desperation, resentment, and, most of all, hurt.
“You can’t skip out on this question, Dean. I deserve an answer, and you’re going to give it to me.”
The low and angry tone rattled him, shook him to his core. He tore away his gaze and stood, trying to pace in order to put his thoughts back in order. He wasn’t prepared this. No matter how often he’d thought about this same question, he’d never been able to formulate a good answer in his brain.
“I don’t know,” he answered hoarsely.
“You don’t know?” Cas asked after a moment, skeptical. He stood up very slowly, taking a few steps towards Dean. “You don’t know? What kind of, of fucking bullshit answer is that? ‘I don’t know’? You just left me on a whim? Is that it?” his voice snarled.
Suddenly, Dean was angry, too. He turned to the other man and crossed his arms over his chest. He growled, “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh, it wasn’t? Well, please, enlighten me with all of your Winchesterian wisdom!”
The tone caused Dean’s lip to twitch into a brief snarl.
“I was just a scared kid, Cas. I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what? Of getting your best friend’s phone number so you could call him every once in awhile? Or getting his email so that you could drop him a message?”
“No! I don’t know. It was just…It was dumb, okay? But can we just get past that for a moment and focus on you? What the hell happened to you, Cas? You used to be super religious. You wanted to go to Harvard and become a doctor, but now look at you! You’re covered in…in tattoos and booze and sex! You’re nothing like what you used to be. Now you’re just a…a…this!” He used one hand to gesture at the other’s full body.
A deep scowl came over Castiel’s face. His eyes, which had been so soft just minutes ago, were full of drunken anger. With an incoherent yell, he attempted a hard punch at the green-eyed man’s jaw, which was easily avoided. Soon, though, Cas was right in his old friend’s face, so close that their breaths mingled, and Dean could feel the heat radiating off of Cas’ body.
“You left me, Dean,” he hissed, the smell of alcohol flooding the other’s nose. “When Dad left, I was okay. When Mom started drinking, I was still okay. I had another family I could go to-your family. And then you left, and then all this shit with Michael calling me an ‘abomination’ and ‘a disgrace to life,’ and you know who I had to talk to about it? No one. Not a single fucking person. You promised me that you would always be there for me, that you were my best friend and would be the one goddamn person in my life that wouldn’t walk out of it. So, how was I supposed to feel when you just up and left without a word?”
The brunette’s voice was choked, and Dean could see that he was on the verge of tears again. The guilt thudded in him again, and he had to look around, look anywhere but at the face of the broken mess in front of him. Cas wouldn’t allow that, though. He advanced quickly, grabbing Dean by the front of his shirt and shoving him into the wall of the living room. Rough hands grabbed Cas’ wrists, but the enraged did nothing to try to remove them. He just stood there, chest heaving with breath and eyes filled with what must have been hate.
“You were… my best friend, Dean,” he whispered. His voice was trembling, drained of anger and replaced with anguish. “When you left, I was completely alone, in every sense of the word. I got kicked out of my house and had not a single place to go. You left me with no one. And you know what? I will never forgive you for that.”
With a harsh shove, Castiel took a few steps back, roughly brushing away a few tears that had managed to escape his misty eyes. He stared at the one on whom he’d once relied on for everything. The one that used to comfort him and tell him, “Things will get better. It sucks now, but you still got me.” With that thought in mind, the drunk, shaggy-haired man turned and stumbled out the door. Dean leaned against the wall for a few seconds, flinching at the sound of the door slamming shut. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he slid down to the floor and buried his head in his hands.
Next Chapter
Author: omnomster
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: Dean/future!Cas
Spoilers: 5.04 - “The End”
Warnings: Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Strong Language, sexual themes
Word Count: 5,258
Summary: Perhaps getting drunk wasn’t a good idea.
AN: Hey! Sorry this took so long… I was actually finally catching up with SPN since I only had all of season 7 and a little of season 6 left to watch. Now that I am caught up, though, I have plenty of fuel for fic! But I do start working next week, so we’ll see how that affects my writing schedule. Let’s hope it won’t! Thank you for reading, and thanks to my beta, Laura!
Chapters: 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | +
Micro Cuts
Everybody liked Sam. How could they not? He was a nice kid and smart, though he could be a little nerdy sometimes. Overall, though, he was a good guy with lots of friends. Dean had never been so thankful for that as he was now.
It was easy enough to convince his brother to stay out with his friends for a bit. He really didn’t want Sam and Cas to be in the same building together, let alone the same room. He wasn’t afraid of them fighting or anything; Dean just didn’t know what to expect of his old friend. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if the guy came over and offered the little Winchester a joint.
Once Sam had left, the older brother spent the next several hours roaming the tiny apartment, cleaning, and hiding the beer. It probably wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like Castiel’s apartment was the epitome of cleanliness. He’ll probably be so high, he won’t even notice if there was fucking slime dripping down the walls, Dean thought somewhat bitterly. Hiding the beer undoubtedly wasn’t necessary, either. From the looks of things, his old friend kept himself in a constant drug or alcohol-induced stupor-at least when he wasn’t working.
As Dean prepared his home, he tried to avoid confronting the pang of guilt in his gut. The cleaning distracted him well enough, classic rock and static blasting from the small stereo on the kitchen counter. By the time five o’ clock rolled around, everything had been scrubbed eight times, and the bottles of alcohol had traveled from the front of the fridge to the back behind the bottles of pop to the cupboard to beneath the sink. The Chinese food had been ordered (it wasn’t like Dean could actually cook). There was nothing else to do, but wait.
Before the shame brought itself to the forefront of his brain, Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala and headed out. He’d get to Cas’ forty-five minutes early, but that’d be okay. He wasn’t about to just sit around here and think about how his friend didn’t go to church anymore and was covered in tattoos and smoked pot and had sex and how it was all probably Dean’s fault.
He pulled up to the building. For a few moments, he was able to sit silently in the car, the faint sounds of Metallica floating from the speakers. But he found that he couldn’t even take that. Before he knew what he was doing, Dean went to the front stoop and called apartment 26.
“Hello?” The answer had come surprisingly quick, perhaps two seconds after Dean had pressed the call button.
The Winchester looked surprised, glancing about for a moment before clearing his throat. “Hey. It’s Dean. Sorry, I’m here kinda-“
“I’ll be right down.”
Oh. The brunette frowned, then shrugged it off. He only needed to wait a minute before an out-of-breath Castiel was pushing the door open, three huge bottles of alcohol cradled in his arms. They flashed each other smiles, Dean still surprised by how fast the response had been. His friend looked a little more sober now. His blue eyes appeared less bloodshot, and the smell of cinnamon signaled that he’d gotten a shower. Dark hair, still damp, stuck to his forehead and around his ears. The scent of whiskey on his breath was only slightly covered by a minty toothpaste. He was even dressed well, with dark jeans and a loose button-up top that made him almost presentable.
“I brought drinks!” Cas grinned, moving his shoulders in attempted gesture towards his arms.
Dean raised his head slightly, a dubious smirk on his face. “Uh… Great. That’s a lot of booze for two people, though, don’t you think?”
They walked back to the car, Castiel right at his friend’s heels. “What? Don’t tell me you can’t hold your liquor anymore?” he asked, the corner of his lips twitching up teasingly.
He opened the car door with some difficulty, and Dean watched amusedly and without offering help. When his friend was finally in the car, the brunette softly chuckled and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Of course I can. Historically, though, you haven’t been able to sip a friggin’ martini without getting trashed.”
The engine roared to life and the passenger settled the three bottles in his lap. He leaned back, adjusting the seat so that he’d be comfortable. After a good stretch, he put his hands behind his neck, staring ahead as Dean carefully pulled out into the street.
Cas shrugged, forehead wrinkling as he grimaced slightly. “Time changes people, I guess.”
To avoid conversation on the way to his home, Dean turned up the radio, Blue Oyster Cult filling the silence. Dean was shocked to hear the passenger’s voice join his own and Eric Bloom’s. Had Castiel-Castiel-really just started singing to BOC?
“Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper, baby take my hand, don’t fear the-Dean!”
The driver slammed down on the brakes, eyes wide as he saw that he’d almost rear-ended the guy ahead of him. For almost ten seconds, he’d been staring at the bobbing head of his friend, singing to a song that Dean had never thought the guy would have known in a million years. Now, he took a steadying breath, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
“Fuck,” he whispered, shaking his head.
The rest of the drive, he didn’t look at Cas once.
When they got to the apartment, the dark-haired young man placed the bottles of alcohol on the kitchen island. After locking the door, Dean walked over to them, picking one up to examine it. Vodka, strawberry rum, and tequila. Interesting combo, he thought, placing the bottle of rum back down. Castiel was already making himself at home, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet and rooting around the fridge.
“No fruit juice? How am I supposed to make a proper drink?” he tsked, head half in the refrigerator. He closed the door with a sigh, straightening back up. “Well, looks like we’ll have to take it straight.”
He brought the cups over, filling each half with rum and half with tequila. Glancing up at Dean, the young man let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“When you’re a bartender and all your friends are bartenders, it’s pretty easy to get this stuff,” he said, answering the other’s look.
He capped a bottle and handed a glass to his friend. Dean tentatively took it, taking a sip. It wasn’t too terrible, but definitely strong. Even if he could hold his alcohol pretty well, it would still only take a few glasses before he was out of his head. Cas seated himself at one of the old barstools in front of the island, and Dean took his place beside him.
“So, Dean. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken to each other,” the blue-eyed man said. His voice had lost all of its previous lightness, having become somber.
Dean stared purposefully at the sink a few feet in front of him. Castiel stared at the fridge, eyes shifting every few seconds to look at Dean. It was hard to assess the mood of the quietness. They each felt it was like that awkward, tense silence that ensues on a bad first date, when neither person knows what to talk about. Cas was able to find some comfort in it, though, even if it was hidden beneath mountains of awkward.
The Winchester was still trying to get used to the deepness of his friend’s voice, which had changed so much from their middle school days. Something familiar in the tone, however, seemed to bring him a bit of comfort, and his posture relaxed just slightly.
“Yeah, it has,” he agreed, still refusing to look at Cas. He took a slow drink before his eyes went to his cup. For a moment, he contemplated apologizing. That idea was wiped clear of his mind quickly, though. Things were going well so far; it’d be best not to mess it up. “It’s good to see you, though. Hell, I thought…” His words drifted off. What could he say? “I thought I’d never see you again.”
He cleared his throat, then finally forced himself to turn and face his friend. “I thought you’d have gotten out of this place. You always talked about how much you hated it here,” he offered with a sad smile.
A low, grim chuckle trembled in the other young man’s throat. He grinned and shook his head, matching Dean’s gaze. “I thought I’d have left, too. But when my grades went to shit…” He stopped himself, before going on to say, “Let’s make it a drinking game.”
The complete turn in conversation left the green-eyed man briefly confused. He blinked a few times and shook his head, body expressing his sudden confusion.
“Let’s…Wait, what?”
“A drinking game,” the other responded easily. “We take turns asking questions. Before you answer, you have to take a drink. If you don’t want to answer a question, you take two. If you repeat a question that’s already been asked, you take three. Sound good?”
Dean sniffed and shook his head. “Alright,” he chuckled, still not sure what had brought this on. “Why not?”
The thin man reached across and grabbed the bottle of rum. He refilled Dean’s glass with a devious smile, and then said, “That’s one drink for you, Dean.”
They went back and forth with trivial, superficial inquiries. Shit like “What’s your favorite color?” or “Who’s your favorite rock group?” That went on for almost an hour before they began to run out of safe questions and tact. Many answers had cropped up conversation and old memories, which they’d emphatically recall for the other.
The game started with the rum, which had a relatively low alcohol level (Thank God, because they’d already gone through the whole damn bottle). Dean was starting to feel the buzz, the strange sensations in his limbs. It’d take more than that to get him drunk, though. Tequila was the next thing to fill Dean’s glass, and a sniff told him that it was definitely stronger. He kept eying the huge bottle of vodka, though. If they managed to get to that without their livers exploding, it was going to burn his throat like a son of a bitch.
“Hmm…Question…” Castiel closed his eyes, humming slightly as he tried to think of something. It was obvious that he’d begun to feel good, too, just by the way smiles would randomly flicker onto his lips. “What’s the worst sex you’ve ever had?”
Dean gave a devious grin, shaking his head and laughing. He took a shot, then gave a shrug. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have bad sex.”
Incredulous, Cas dropped his jaw and punched Dean in the arm. “You fucking liar… Come on, Dean Winchester, sexpert, must have had some bad sex in his life.”
Green eyes shone brightly, pink lips spreading into a big grin. He glanced down at his cup and filled the bottom with tequila again. “There was this time in Oakland… Me and this girl were in the supply closet at the high school. Let’s just say she was very inexperienced, and after fifteen minutes, just as she started getting excited, her damn dad opens the door. Did I mention her dad was also the superintendent? Good for me, we were moving the next day, anyway. Boy, was that awkward.”
The dark-haired man shook his head, still laughing quietly. “Your intelligence astounds me, Dean.”
They both took a moment to let their giggles die out. The Winchester didn’t make any more comments on the situation, just asked, “What about you? What’s been your best sex?”
Somehow, Castiel’s smile managed to grow even bigger. He took a drink, and opened his mouth like he was going to answer. Instead, he filled his cup again and took another drink.
“No! Oh, come on, Cas!” Dean cried, slamming his open palms on the island and his face disbelieving, “Not cool! I tell you about my worst, but you won’t even tell me about your best? What is this? That is… That is more than a fair trade!”
The man just shook his head, giving his friend his best shit-eating grin. “Sorry. Besides, I don’t think it’d be your kind of thing, anyway. My turn.” He filled his glass again. “Lessee… What… You do alcohol, right?”
“Yes, Cas. I’d say I, uh, do alcohol,” he replied, amused.
“What about drugs? You ever try anything? You ever dance with Mary Jane or pop some PCP?”
The words had a somewhat sobering effect on Dean. He cleared his throat and turned slightly in his chair, so that he wasn’t completely facing Cas anymore. “Nah. Booze is one thing, but drugs? That shit can mess you up bad,” he said after his shot, the last trace of a smile disappearing from his face. He didn’t let the silence linger between them too long, however. Before Cas could argue that heroin was the single best thing out there, Dean asked, “So… How many women have you slept with?”
Cas took a shot.
“Total? Only like… Huh, I’m not sure. A hundred, maybe?”
Violent choking noises fought their way out of Dean’s mouth. The mere absurdity of the words left him gagging on his own saliva. A few hits to the chest and he was coughing, trying to get air back into his lungs and ignore the fact that Castiel was losing his mind to laughter.
“H-h-h…A hundred?” He looked to his friend, who was laughing so hard his face was red (or perhaps his face was red from the alcohol; it was hard to tell). “Cas, there’s… There’s no way.”
It took a moment, but the man was able to calm himself down enough to answer. “It’s true! I mean, obviously some girls are regulars. Meg and I have been fucking for almost a year now, and she keeps me stocked with the prescription pills. It’s really hard to keep track of all the people you fuck, though. I mean, they’re coming in and out all the time, y’know? Can’t possibly remember all those faces.”
The doorbell rang. Waves of relief washed over Dean as he stood up. “That must be the food,” he said, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
As he paid the delivery person, the young man took a moment to regret ever having asked that question. Not only was hearing Cas use “fuck” as a verb friggin’ weird as hell, hearing him talk about having sex with one hundred women was just flat out ridiculous. He brought over the stereotypical red and white boxes, dropping one in front of Cas with a pair of plastic-wrapped chopsticks.
“We’re eatin’ fancy tonight,” he grunted, then sat down beside his friend again.
He took a moment to note that he was getting drunk. The alcohol was going to his head, and he couldn’t fathom being awake long enough to take on the full bottle of vodka that was still waiting for them. Cas eagerly tore into the Chinese food, eating it quickly and occasionally giving little groans of pleasure due to how good the food was. Honestly, the sounds made Dean uncomfortable, but he was too busy stuffing his own face and trying not to think about Cas sleeping with every woman within a five-block radius.
They were quiet while they ate, both enraptured by the surprisingly delicious take-out. Dean made a note in his brain that said he’d have to order it again. He pulled the chopsticks apart, then fitted them in his hand before going to grab at some of the noodles in his box. Apparently, the utensils were drunk-proof, because every time he attempted to pull up a noodle, it’d slide right out of his grasp.
Cas watched out of the corner of his eye. His box was hugged to his chest, right below his chin, and he was shoveling rice and chicken into his mouth like it was the easiest thing in the world. Trying to hold back some giggles, the visitor focused his gaze on the contents of his container. Blue eyes continued to flick up to watch, though, holding amusement.
“Dammit!” Dean cried, slamming the paper box onto the island.
He sat there for a moment, frustrated, not looking at the glob of noodles and vegetables that had just landed in his lap. He grabbed a napkin and started picking them off his lap, muttering something offensive below his breath. Castiel began to snicker, bowing his head for a moment to hide his face. When he looked up, it was with innocent enjoyment at the situation.
“You’re a dumbass,” he pointed out.
Green eyes narrowed, Dean went and grabbed a plastic fork out of one of the kitchen drawers. When he sat back down, his friend raised his eyebrows.
“Plasticware, Dean?”
“Yes, plasticware. You don’t have to clean it, and you can just throw it away and buy more when you’re done.”
Cas nodded slightly, still smiling. The rest of the meal was had in silence, with the visitor’s blue eyes curiously looking at Dean every few seconds. If the other noticed, he didn’t let on. When the empty boxes and utensils were thrown away, the game began again as the two filled their glasses.
“My turn to ask a question,” said the guest, rolling his cup between his hands. The smile barely lingered on his face, and he stared ahead. A new attitude had fallen over him. He opened his mouth, but closed it as he thought better of what he’d wanted to ask. “Where are you going to be working, now that you’re back?”
“Singer Salvage Yard. Bobby’s an old friend of my dad, so I’m going to be working for him, fixing up cars, that kind of crap,” he replied after a shot, beginning to sound a little inebriated.
“Bobby Singer… He’s a good man. I wouldn’t want to work for him, though.”
“A job’s a job, right?” Dean shrugged. “Anyway, on my way up to your apartment earlier, someone said that you were getting a new roommate. What’s that about? Do Meg and Blondie not live with you?”
Cas shook his head. “No, the girls don’t. Rent’s starting to creep up, so I thought I might as well get a roommate. You remember Uriel, don’t you? From school?”
Green eyes squinted in disgust, a matching sound leaving the man’s throat. “That jackass? Yeah, I know him. Can’t see him living in your neighborhood, though. Dude’s got a righteous stick up his ass, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, I guess you could say that,” Castiel chuckled. “He actually volunteered. Said he wants to ‘set me’… heh, ‘set me straight’!” Suddenly he was laughing hysterically, but there was no joy in it, only a sick, grim amusement. “Imagine!” He shook his head again, then took his appropriate drink.
Dean found the laughter unsettling. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, gripping his cup like a safety blanket.
“But I don’t think I’ll be taking him in… I don’t need him chasing away every hot piece of ass and new underground drug that comes to my doorstep.”
The man’s blue eyes sparkled for a moment as he stretched out his limbs. The grim smile suddenly dropped from his face and he turned to look at Dean directly. He cocked his head to the side, his forehead wrinkling slightly as he tensed his brow.
There was that guilt, again, beating against Dean’s skull. This man, who was practically a stranger now, was suddenly the spitting image of what he’d used to be: a curious, innocent teenager. But there was something added to it. It wasn’t just genuine, lighthearted interest coating his face; there was something darker there that the Winchester couldn’t place.
“Over five years have passed… What is the best thing that’s happened to you since then? I’m sure… I’m sure that good things’ve happened to you…So what was the best?”
Dean suddenly looked confused. He turned to face his friend, obviously not understanding why this question was being asked. He couldn’t take staring at those eyes, though, those ocean-colored hues that bore into his soul like tiny, shame-inducing drills. Taking a shot distracted him for a moment, allowed him a moment to think.
“I…I don’t know,” he admitted, gaze locked on the sink again. “Really, nothing great has happened. Same shit, different places. I guess the best thing that’s happened to me… Well, I guess the best thing that’s happened to me is movin’ back here.”
The visitor’s face didn’t change. For a moment, Dean thought that he’d fallen asleep, but Castiel slowly reached across and refilled the man’s glass. A soft sigh and the brunette drank.
“So…” he cleared his throat. Dean ran a hand through his hair and over his eyes. His vision was swimming. His limbs were tingling. He could barely keep a thought. “You said your grades went down? What exact-“
The two men turned in unison as the front door opened. Cas’ brows raised slightly, and the edges of his lips twitched up. Emerging from the doorway, Sam gave a sheepish smile, waving. The other Winchester looked ready to have a heart attack, glancing back and forth between the other two in the room. Finally, he jumped to his feet, almost falling down in the process. His brother smirked and shook his head.
“You two having fun?” he asked, gaze flickering between the two. He took a few steps into the room, slightly uneasy as he looked at the visitor. “Hey, Cas. It’s been awhile… You look… You look good.”
The man snickered in response, but didn’t attempt to get off of his stool. “You look good, too, Sam. Are you doing well in school?”
“Oh… Y-yeah, doing great. Actually, I-“
“Sammy, why don’t you head on over to your room? School starts tomorrow, and we want to make sure you get plenty of sleep!” Dean chirped.
He stumbled over to his brother, clasping a hand on the boy’s shoulder with a sloppy grin. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes, pushing Dean away.
“You’re drunk,” he stated simply, but walked towards his bedroom anyway. “You two behave. Dean, I don’t want to hold your hand and clean up your vomit tomorrow.”
The words were accentuated with the shutting of his door. Dean took in a deep breath, then frowned. “Bitch,” he muttered. He staggered back to his seat and sighed, shaking his head. “Ugh, who’s turn is it?” he groaned, rubbing his face.
“You’re asking me ‘bout my grades,” Cas replied pleasantly, speech slightly slurred.
“Oh… Right,” he nodded, knitting his eyebrows together. “So, why’d your grades go down? I mean, you’ve always been a smart guy.” He turned to look at Cas, searching for some kind of sign on his face.
The other remained impassive, however. “It just wasn’t for me. I was dealing with a lot of shit, and school seemed like just the biggest waste of time.” He brushed his hands through his newly dried hair, tufts sticking out from his head in all directions. He took his drink, then sat momentarily in thought. “What’s the first dream you ever remember having?”
Flashes of fire danced in Dean’s head. He swallowed hard at the question, mind immediately removed from analyzing the answer he’d be given. Two shots were taken, accompanied by a soft moan.
“Damn, this stuff’s strong,” he muttered, trying to ignore the corrosive stare he was receiving. “So, ah… So…” He needed a question. Needed one quick to stop Cas from giving him that damn look. “What happened between you and Michael? At church, he seemed pretty ticked off at just the mention of you.”
Well, that certainly changed the man’s expression. His countenance was quickly overcome with a bitter disgust, and he quickly shook his head. Cas took a quick drink, the shot glass being slammed a little violently back onto the plastic counter.
“He kicked me out of the house. Told me that if I ever showed my face at his doorstep again, he’d…” Something caught in his throat, but he hid it with a fierce scowl. “That bastard won’t even let me see my little brother. Says I’ll ‘taint him’ or some bullshit like that. Michael is…He’s just…”
He breathed in sharply through his nose, a sign that Dean recognized from being childhood friends to mean that he might start crying.
“Hey, hey! It’s okay, man,” he said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He could feel the sharp bones of his shoulder sticking through his skin, a gross reminder of how thin Castiel had become. Dean frowned, a torn look on his face. “Who needs him, right? I’ve never liked him, anyway. He’s always come off like a sleazy politician.”
The other man sniffed and took in a deep breath. “I don’t need him. That’s for sure.” He glanced up, noticing that the rum was a little over half gone. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and used that, instead, to refill his cup. “What about your father? Y’been able to sort out your differences at all?”
Drink. Shudder. Close eyes. “Heh. Well, ’m livin’ here, aren’t I? I only got to leave with Sammy, ‘cause I was able to bug the shit out of Dad. He’s pro’bly thankful we’re out of his hair, now.”
The visitor nodded in understanding. “You don’t need him. You’ve always been able to take care of your brother by yourself.”
Dean smirked and shook his head. Wasn’t that the truth! The next question flowed easily out of his mouth, on his mind since the moment his friend had spoken. “Cas…What’d Michael say to you?”
No answer. Two shots.
Silence again. It seemed that every shot multiplied the silent guilt stewing in Dean’s belly. He glared at his hands, fiddling with his thumbs. The noiselessness dragged on forever, slowly clawing at Dean’s thoughts, trying to force him into apologizing. Unfortunately, he didn’t even need to bring it up.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you were leaving?” The voice that asked was soft and scared.
Cas turned his entire body to face Dean, and the Winchester thought that he was suddenly incredibly, uncomfortably close. He could feel the heat of his friend’s stare digging into his face, searching for any semblance of an answer. The green eyes didn’t dare to try to meet the gaze, either. He couldn’t handle that. So, instead, he took a drink, then began pouring his second.
“No.”
Castiel grabbed the bottle in Dean’s hand and slammed it back down. They were forced to look at one another, and everything expressed in the dark-haired man’s face was everything that Dean had feared: confusion, desperation, resentment, and, most of all, hurt.
“You can’t skip out on this question, Dean. I deserve an answer, and you’re going to give it to me.”
The low and angry tone rattled him, shook him to his core. He tore away his gaze and stood, trying to pace in order to put his thoughts back in order. He wasn’t prepared this. No matter how often he’d thought about this same question, he’d never been able to formulate a good answer in his brain.
“I don’t know,” he answered hoarsely.
“You don’t know?” Cas asked after a moment, skeptical. He stood up very slowly, taking a few steps towards Dean. “You don’t know? What kind of, of fucking bullshit answer is that? ‘I don’t know’? You just left me on a whim? Is that it?” his voice snarled.
Suddenly, Dean was angry, too. He turned to the other man and crossed his arms over his chest. He growled, “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh, it wasn’t? Well, please, enlighten me with all of your Winchesterian wisdom!”
The tone caused Dean’s lip to twitch into a brief snarl.
“I was just a scared kid, Cas. I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what? Of getting your best friend’s phone number so you could call him every once in awhile? Or getting his email so that you could drop him a message?”
“No! I don’t know. It was just…It was dumb, okay? But can we just get past that for a moment and focus on you? What the hell happened to you, Cas? You used to be super religious. You wanted to go to Harvard and become a doctor, but now look at you! You’re covered in…in tattoos and booze and sex! You’re nothing like what you used to be. Now you’re just a…a…this!” He used one hand to gesture at the other’s full body.
A deep scowl came over Castiel’s face. His eyes, which had been so soft just minutes ago, were full of drunken anger. With an incoherent yell, he attempted a hard punch at the green-eyed man’s jaw, which was easily avoided. Soon, though, Cas was right in his old friend’s face, so close that their breaths mingled, and Dean could feel the heat radiating off of Cas’ body.
“You left me, Dean,” he hissed, the smell of alcohol flooding the other’s nose. “When Dad left, I was okay. When Mom started drinking, I was still okay. I had another family I could go to-your family. And then you left, and then all this shit with Michael calling me an ‘abomination’ and ‘a disgrace to life,’ and you know who I had to talk to about it? No one. Not a single fucking person. You promised me that you would always be there for me, that you were my best friend and would be the one goddamn person in my life that wouldn’t walk out of it. So, how was I supposed to feel when you just up and left without a word?”
The brunette’s voice was choked, and Dean could see that he was on the verge of tears again. The guilt thudded in him again, and he had to look around, look anywhere but at the face of the broken mess in front of him. Cas wouldn’t allow that, though. He advanced quickly, grabbing Dean by the front of his shirt and shoving him into the wall of the living room. Rough hands grabbed Cas’ wrists, but the enraged did nothing to try to remove them. He just stood there, chest heaving with breath and eyes filled with what must have been hate.
“You were… my best friend, Dean,” he whispered. His voice was trembling, drained of anger and replaced with anguish. “When you left, I was completely alone, in every sense of the word. I got kicked out of my house and had not a single place to go. You left me with no one. And you know what? I will never forgive you for that.”
With a harsh shove, Castiel took a few steps back, roughly brushing away a few tears that had managed to escape his misty eyes. He stared at the one on whom he’d once relied on for everything. The one that used to comfort him and tell him, “Things will get better. It sucks now, but you still got me.” With that thought in mind, the drunk, shaggy-haired man turned and stumbled out the door. Dean leaned against the wall for a few seconds, flinching at the sound of the door slamming shut. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he slid down to the floor and buried his head in his hands.
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