Fic: Giving Up is Giving In (1/3)
Masterpost
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Some things Cas will never understand so he doesn't try to. Like the way the Winchesters had let him fall back into step with them, particularly the younger, baffled the fallen angel. The first time he heard, 'Cas,' fall out of full lips under jade eyes after he had played God Castiel had barely been able to suppress the flinch that shot up his spine. A lot had happened, been built up and broken again since he earned that subtle seal of approval from Dean. He hadn't been so blinded that he couldn't see how far things have stretched between them.
"What's a little apocalypse between family?" Sam tried to joke when the weight of not mentioning it had started snapping bones.
"Family," Cas repeated back as if of all the words in all of the languages he was programmed to know this was the one installed incorrectly.
Sam didn't get it, rarely did when it came to Cas, and huffed out a laugh. His absurdly large hand came crashing down, slamming onto his shoulder. "Of course, Cas." Like anything could be that simple now.
Dean's pupils were like lasers concentrated somewhere south of Cas' eyes, his throat working hard to swallow beneath stubble and pale skin. Dean is a puzzle - parts fitting together in a way Cas is only beginning to understand, creating a complete picture he desperately wants to see. Only he can't help feeling like he keeps stealing pieces of Dean. Or at least pushing him to the point where he's squirreling them away as not to lose them. Dean's strong, stronger than the angels had bet on, but its a matter of structural integrity at this point. You poke so many holes in a wall and its no longer keeping what it should out or up no matter what its made of.
Sam tells him to stay in touch, meaning it. He shares a look with his brother the angel doesn't bother to interrupt before walking out of the room. He's left with Dean whose hand is gripping his keys so tightly his palm is going to bare their mark for hours.
"We have to go," Dean says finally, as if this needs saying.
Cas nods and thinks, 'I know you do - to try to clean up my mess,' but says, "I'm sorry I can't help you." He wants to tell Dean that he wishes he wasn't so ruined, that everything wasn't.
Dean looks to the door, to the world Cas broke and his brother waiting out in it. He's gritting his teeth, jaw muscles clenched and angry. Cas doesn't have to be able to read his mind to know he's biting back an argument about the subtle difference between 'can't' and 'won't'.
"Right," he breathes out in a tone more tired and less angry than expected. "I'll see ya, Cas."
Cas wants to say a lot of things but his better judgment has sat on the mute button. So he watches as his once charge strides past him, doesn't miss the way his whole body jerks to a halt in the door frame as if it wasn't planned. Barely turning back to face him, profile over lit by the hospital lights behind him Dean jabs a finger in Cas' direction, accusingly.
"Don't disappear again or I swear to God," in a way that makes desperate and furious seem like synonyms.
Cas nods again, not needing to hear the rest of the threat, but Dean doesn't see it. Dean is gone. Down the hall, through the series of doors, getting into a car, to clean up the mess. He wants to run after him. Damn them all and say the words pounding inside of his skull. Get in that car and fix this himself. But he's seen what happens when he touches something and he doesn't want to be the thing that makes Dean finally crumble.
So he starts and does what he can. He takes care of the bees.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dean hadn't prayed for him. There was no reason to think anything was wrong and, with certainty, he knew he wasn't needed. This doesn't stop the heart he no longer considers borrowed to flare with relief when Sam texts him back almost immediately the address to a motel in Montana. In an instant he's standing in front of Dean. Dean who is shirtless, sewing up a torn open bicep, a jagged soon-to-be scar. He doesn't jump at Cas' sudden appearance like he used to. Its a quick snap of muscle, more memory than intent, like his heart isn't in it. Cas doesn't know which is more painful, the thought of being something normal to Dean or the way the hunter seems to radiate even in a run down motel room with more lights burned out than not. Doesn't know which he is more thankful for, either.
"What's going on, Cas?" He asks, looking up from his handiwork, expression slightly pained.
He doesn't know the answer. He doesn't think there is one.
"I wanted to see if you had made any progress on-"
Castiel wonders what will happen if he were to reach out and attempt to heal, to smooth out the red anger on Dean's arm back into freckled porcelain. He doesn't know what Dean will do if he touches him and the human will heal in time without him so he doesn't try.
"You're checking up on us? Looking for a status report?" Dean laughs like he's never heard anything less funny.
"No," sounding the word out slowly as if tiptoeing, the conversation full of landmines.
"Then if you're here to offer a hand-"
"No," he says again, this time sure of it.
Dean sighs, pulls his shirt back on and some of the air that the room had been missing starts streaming back in. Dean stares at him, eyes wide open and Cas realizes this man is as terrified as he is. A fear that has sunk into their skeletons and threatening to crack them both apart from the inside.
"Cas - I can't," he starts and abandons, scrubbing a worn hand over his face. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Bobby's gone and you're on the bench. We're clueless, man. We, I need..." but Cas won't get to hear what Dean needs. The walls are already clicking back into place behind Dean's eyes when he finishes with, "Why are you even here, Cas?"
Without thinking, probably because he doesn't, Cas says, "I'm in love with you, Dean."
Cas still isn't great with nailing facial expressions but he knows surprise fairly well. He can appreciate that disgust or anger doesn't make an appearance - that he sees, anyway. It looks like someone walked by and pulled all of Dean's muscle strings too tight, he may not even be breathing, and Cas thinks, 'How many times have I tried to shut you up, Dean Winchester? All this time and all it took was the truth.'
Castiel goes to say something but once his mouth is open he realizes he's not sure where to begin. 'How could you not have known this?' is lingering near the tip of his tongue when he hears Sam shuffle for his keys at the door.
He looks at Dean, takes the sight of him in. He's still beautiful, the one constant in Castiel's life now. Cas lifts his hands, palms towards Dean, and tries standing in a way that he hopes looks apologetic but he knows screams of acceptance.
"Don't you fucking dare!-" is all Dean gets out, barely managing to scramble off the bed, before Cas is gone.
Next!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Some things Cas will never understand so he doesn't try to. Like the way the Winchesters had let him fall back into step with them, particularly the younger, baffled the fallen angel. The first time he heard, 'Cas,' fall out of full lips under jade eyes after he had played God Castiel had barely been able to suppress the flinch that shot up his spine. A lot had happened, been built up and broken again since he earned that subtle seal of approval from Dean. He hadn't been so blinded that he couldn't see how far things have stretched between them.
"What's a little apocalypse between family?" Sam tried to joke when the weight of not mentioning it had started snapping bones.
"Family," Cas repeated back as if of all the words in all of the languages he was programmed to know this was the one installed incorrectly.
Sam didn't get it, rarely did when it came to Cas, and huffed out a laugh. His absurdly large hand came crashing down, slamming onto his shoulder. "Of course, Cas." Like anything could be that simple now.
Dean's pupils were like lasers concentrated somewhere south of Cas' eyes, his throat working hard to swallow beneath stubble and pale skin. Dean is a puzzle - parts fitting together in a way Cas is only beginning to understand, creating a complete picture he desperately wants to see. Only he can't help feeling like he keeps stealing pieces of Dean. Or at least pushing him to the point where he's squirreling them away as not to lose them. Dean's strong, stronger than the angels had bet on, but its a matter of structural integrity at this point. You poke so many holes in a wall and its no longer keeping what it should out or up no matter what its made of.
Sam tells him to stay in touch, meaning it. He shares a look with his brother the angel doesn't bother to interrupt before walking out of the room. He's left with Dean whose hand is gripping his keys so tightly his palm is going to bare their mark for hours.
"We have to go," Dean says finally, as if this needs saying.
Cas nods and thinks, 'I know you do - to try to clean up my mess,' but says, "I'm sorry I can't help you." He wants to tell Dean that he wishes he wasn't so ruined, that everything wasn't.
Dean looks to the door, to the world Cas broke and his brother waiting out in it. He's gritting his teeth, jaw muscles clenched and angry. Cas doesn't have to be able to read his mind to know he's biting back an argument about the subtle difference between 'can't' and 'won't'.
"Right," he breathes out in a tone more tired and less angry than expected. "I'll see ya, Cas."
Cas wants to say a lot of things but his better judgment has sat on the mute button. So he watches as his once charge strides past him, doesn't miss the way his whole body jerks to a halt in the door frame as if it wasn't planned. Barely turning back to face him, profile over lit by the hospital lights behind him Dean jabs a finger in Cas' direction, accusingly.
"Don't disappear again or I swear to God," in a way that makes desperate and furious seem like synonyms.
Cas nods again, not needing to hear the rest of the threat, but Dean doesn't see it. Dean is gone. Down the hall, through the series of doors, getting into a car, to clean up the mess. He wants to run after him. Damn them all and say the words pounding inside of his skull. Get in that car and fix this himself. But he's seen what happens when he touches something and he doesn't want to be the thing that makes Dean finally crumble.
So he starts and does what he can. He takes care of the bees.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dean hadn't prayed for him. There was no reason to think anything was wrong and, with certainty, he knew he wasn't needed. This doesn't stop the heart he no longer considers borrowed to flare with relief when Sam texts him back almost immediately the address to a motel in Montana. In an instant he's standing in front of Dean. Dean who is shirtless, sewing up a torn open bicep, a jagged soon-to-be scar. He doesn't jump at Cas' sudden appearance like he used to. Its a quick snap of muscle, more memory than intent, like his heart isn't in it. Cas doesn't know which is more painful, the thought of being something normal to Dean or the way the hunter seems to radiate even in a run down motel room with more lights burned out than not. Doesn't know which he is more thankful for, either.
"What's going on, Cas?" He asks, looking up from his handiwork, expression slightly pained.
He doesn't know the answer. He doesn't think there is one.
"I wanted to see if you had made any progress on-"
Castiel wonders what will happen if he were to reach out and attempt to heal, to smooth out the red anger on Dean's arm back into freckled porcelain. He doesn't know what Dean will do if he touches him and the human will heal in time without him so he doesn't try.
"You're checking up on us? Looking for a status report?" Dean laughs like he's never heard anything less funny.
"No," sounding the word out slowly as if tiptoeing, the conversation full of landmines.
"Then if you're here to offer a hand-"
"No," he says again, this time sure of it.
Dean sighs, pulls his shirt back on and some of the air that the room had been missing starts streaming back in. Dean stares at him, eyes wide open and Cas realizes this man is as terrified as he is. A fear that has sunk into their skeletons and threatening to crack them both apart from the inside.
"Cas - I can't," he starts and abandons, scrubbing a worn hand over his face. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Bobby's gone and you're on the bench. We're clueless, man. We, I need..." but Cas won't get to hear what Dean needs. The walls are already clicking back into place behind Dean's eyes when he finishes with, "Why are you even here, Cas?"
Without thinking, probably because he doesn't, Cas says, "I'm in love with you, Dean."
Cas still isn't great with nailing facial expressions but he knows surprise fairly well. He can appreciate that disgust or anger doesn't make an appearance - that he sees, anyway. It looks like someone walked by and pulled all of Dean's muscle strings too tight, he may not even be breathing, and Cas thinks, 'How many times have I tried to shut you up, Dean Winchester? All this time and all it took was the truth.'
Castiel goes to say something but once his mouth is open he realizes he's not sure where to begin. 'How could you not have known this?' is lingering near the tip of his tongue when he hears Sam shuffle for his keys at the door.
He looks at Dean, takes the sight of him in. He's still beautiful, the one constant in Castiel's life now. Cas lifts his hands, palms towards Dean, and tries standing in a way that he hopes looks apologetic but he knows screams of acceptance.
"Don't you fucking dare!-" is all Dean gets out, barely managing to scramble off the bed, before Cas is gone.
Next!