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annundrielThe Way We Leave Each Other Hungry
Dean/Castiel
PG-13
1072
6.03 coda. Angst.
Dean has some questions he'd like answered. So does Cas.
Title from Trembling Blue Stars' "Little Gunshots." Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perfumaniac. ♥
Dean stomps into his motel room, flipping on a light and slamming the door behind him, muffling the sound of the Impala backing away over gravel. “Great,” he mutters, dropping his duffle on the table. “Cas, you better get your feathery ass back down here or I am going to—”
“My ass is not feathery, Dean.”
Startling, Dean spins around, closing the distance between them to jab his finger at Cas’ chest. Cas looks down at it with a frown.
“You,” Dean says. “You’ve got some explaining to do. What the hell was that?”
Cas looks back up at him, brow furrowed. “What was what?”
Dean steps away, steps back, paces toward the refrigerator and then the bed. “That,” he says, gesturing vaguely, “back there. With your buddy Balthazar and with Aaron. With Sam?” He pauses in front of Cas again. “A year, Cas, you were gone a year and you think you can just…pop back down here like you’re God’s gift to mankind and use us to solve your problems?”
Cas isn’t so much frowning as scowling now, and Dean knows he should stop, knows he’s on the edge of something here that he’s probably going to regret any second, but he can’t shut up. His mouth is open and everything is pouring out.
“That’s not how it works, Cas. You want help, you give help. You don’t ditch your friends for a year and then show up when it’s convenient for you. You pick up the damn phone and you call.”
The painting next to Dean’s head rattles against the wallpaper when Dean’s body hits the wall, Cas pinning him there with his hands twisted in Dean’s shirt. Dean gasps and blinks, clutches at Cas’ shirt, fingers finding purchase as his body remembers that night not much more than a year ago when Cas kicked him around an alley.
Cas’ eyes are more blue than he remembered.
“Then why didn’t you ask for me? Why did Sam call, and you didn’t?”
Cas’ tone is harsh, inescapable, and Dean can feel Cas’ breath on his cheeks, Cas’ curled fingers hard against his chest. He’s giving off heat like a furnace, and Dean can’t remember if Cas was always this hot, if he always burned like this, and that…that scares him more than the fierce look in Cas’ eyes because it means he was forgetting and he doesn’t…he can’t…
He doesn’t want to forget.
Dean lost Sam and Cas in the same day. Lost them, and then had them returned to him only to leave voluntarily, Cas back to Heaven, Sam into…well. Whatever was down there waiting for him and Lucifer, Adam and Michael. The way Sam’s acting now, Dean’s not too sure what it was.
“Does it even matter that I’m here, Dean?”
Having them means losing them, again and again, but Dean’s tired of living without.
“Did you really want me back?”
Closing the distance between them, Dean covers the hard line of Cas’ mouth with his own.
Cas doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, neither of them do, held there in that moment between allies—between friends—and something else, something more.
It feels like hours, like weeks, like a lifetime passes with his mouth pressed awkwardly against Cas’, with Cas’ body pressed determinedly against his.
It’s over in the blink of an eye, Cas pulling back to stare at him with eyes wide and full of more emotion than Dean’s capable of naming.
No matter what Dean sees in Cas’face, though, Cas is still putting distance between them. Dean’s heart sinks even as it sings.
“Dean,” Cas says, voice gone rough and dark; Dean can feel it in his bones. “What are you doing?”
Swallowing, Dean throws a grin at him, deliberately loosens his fingers in Cas’ shirt. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m—”
“You’re not taking this seriously, Dean. You are trying to distract me.”
“No, Cas,” he says. His voice shakes, and Dean hates that he’s become this vulnerable, that one wrong word here or there, today or tomorrow, could lose him everything he’s only so recently regained. “I’m trying to answer you.”
“That is not an answer, Dean,” Cas says, and fuck, this isn’t what Dean wanted at all, not at all, because Cas slipping away, slipping out of his grip to stand in the middle of the floor.
The only thing left supporting Dean is the wall.
Thank god for the wall.
Frustration and anger and want and regret roil in Dean’s stomach, burn beneath his skin. His hands shake, but he ignores them, choosing instead to fight back, easily finding the momentum he lost earlier when Cas hit him like a freight train.
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s not.” He takes a step away from the wall, pointing his finger at Cas, and says, “But it takes two to tango, Cas, and you never tried getting in touch with me, either. And you flat out ignored Sam. What the hell? Don’t put this all on—”
“What about Lisa? And Ben?”
It’s Cas’ stillness as much as his words that bring Dean up short.
“You got what you wanted, Dean.”
That’s…that’s not fair. He got what he thought he wanted. Which isn’t fair to Lisa and Ben. He cares about them, would do whatever it takes to keep them safe, but they’re not…it’s not…it’s not what he was expecting. It’s good, but it’s not right, it’s not him. No matter how much he wishes it were.
Wanting something and having it is not the same thing.
Dean blinks at him, hands dropping to his sides, empty. “It’s complicated.”
Cas stares back. He isn’t the being that first pulled Dean out of Hell or the one that smelled of smoke and sex and sadness in a tragic future, but is something in between. Otherworldly and strange, but somehow still touchable.
He stands silent in the center of the room, and Dean revolves around him.
Or they revolve around each other.
Cas came when he called. He called, and Cas answered.
“What about you?” Dean asks. “Did you get what you wanted?”
Looking away toward the window, the door, Cas refuses to meet his eyes. “It is…complicated.”
That stings.
“Did you really want to come back, Cas?”
Cas looks at him again—his eyes are very blue—and disappears between one heartbeat and the next.
“You still suck at goodbyes, Cas!” Dean yells.
He never gets a response.
Dean/Castiel
PG-13
1072
6.03 coda. Angst.
Dean has some questions he'd like answered. So does Cas.
Title from Trembling Blue Stars' "Little Gunshots." Many, many thanks to
perfumaniac. ♥Dean stomps into his motel room, flipping on a light and slamming the door behind him, muffling the sound of the Impala backing away over gravel. “Great,” he mutters, dropping his duffle on the table. “Cas, you better get your feathery ass back down here or I am going to—”
“My ass is not feathery, Dean.”
Startling, Dean spins around, closing the distance between them to jab his finger at Cas’ chest. Cas looks down at it with a frown.
“You,” Dean says. “You’ve got some explaining to do. What the hell was that?”
Cas looks back up at him, brow furrowed. “What was what?”
Dean steps away, steps back, paces toward the refrigerator and then the bed. “That,” he says, gesturing vaguely, “back there. With your buddy Balthazar and with Aaron. With Sam?” He pauses in front of Cas again. “A year, Cas, you were gone a year and you think you can just…pop back down here like you’re God’s gift to mankind and use us to solve your problems?”
Cas isn’t so much frowning as scowling now, and Dean knows he should stop, knows he’s on the edge of something here that he’s probably going to regret any second, but he can’t shut up. His mouth is open and everything is pouring out.
“That’s not how it works, Cas. You want help, you give help. You don’t ditch your friends for a year and then show up when it’s convenient for you. You pick up the damn phone and you call.”
The painting next to Dean’s head rattles against the wallpaper when Dean’s body hits the wall, Cas pinning him there with his hands twisted in Dean’s shirt. Dean gasps and blinks, clutches at Cas’ shirt, fingers finding purchase as his body remembers that night not much more than a year ago when Cas kicked him around an alley.
Cas’ eyes are more blue than he remembered.
“Then why didn’t you ask for me? Why did Sam call, and you didn’t?”
Cas’ tone is harsh, inescapable, and Dean can feel Cas’ breath on his cheeks, Cas’ curled fingers hard against his chest. He’s giving off heat like a furnace, and Dean can’t remember if Cas was always this hot, if he always burned like this, and that…that scares him more than the fierce look in Cas’ eyes because it means he was forgetting and he doesn’t…he can’t…
He doesn’t want to forget.
Dean lost Sam and Cas in the same day. Lost them, and then had them returned to him only to leave voluntarily, Cas back to Heaven, Sam into…well. Whatever was down there waiting for him and Lucifer, Adam and Michael. The way Sam’s acting now, Dean’s not too sure what it was.
“Does it even matter that I’m here, Dean?”
Having them means losing them, again and again, but Dean’s tired of living without.
“Did you really want me back?”
Closing the distance between them, Dean covers the hard line of Cas’ mouth with his own.
Cas doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, neither of them do, held there in that moment between allies—between friends—and something else, something more.
It feels like hours, like weeks, like a lifetime passes with his mouth pressed awkwardly against Cas’, with Cas’ body pressed determinedly against his.
It’s over in the blink of an eye, Cas pulling back to stare at him with eyes wide and full of more emotion than Dean’s capable of naming.
No matter what Dean sees in Cas’face, though, Cas is still putting distance between them. Dean’s heart sinks even as it sings.
“Dean,” Cas says, voice gone rough and dark; Dean can feel it in his bones. “What are you doing?”
Swallowing, Dean throws a grin at him, deliberately loosens his fingers in Cas’ shirt. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m—”
“You’re not taking this seriously, Dean. You are trying to distract me.”
“No, Cas,” he says. His voice shakes, and Dean hates that he’s become this vulnerable, that one wrong word here or there, today or tomorrow, could lose him everything he’s only so recently regained. “I’m trying to answer you.”
“That is not an answer, Dean,” Cas says, and fuck, this isn’t what Dean wanted at all, not at all, because Cas slipping away, slipping out of his grip to stand in the middle of the floor.
The only thing left supporting Dean is the wall.
Thank god for the wall.
Frustration and anger and want and regret roil in Dean’s stomach, burn beneath his skin. His hands shake, but he ignores them, choosing instead to fight back, easily finding the momentum he lost earlier when Cas hit him like a freight train.
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s not.” He takes a step away from the wall, pointing his finger at Cas, and says, “But it takes two to tango, Cas, and you never tried getting in touch with me, either. And you flat out ignored Sam. What the hell? Don’t put this all on—”
“What about Lisa? And Ben?”
It’s Cas’ stillness as much as his words that bring Dean up short.
“You got what you wanted, Dean.”
That’s…that’s not fair. He got what he thought he wanted. Which isn’t fair to Lisa and Ben. He cares about them, would do whatever it takes to keep them safe, but they’re not…it’s not…it’s not what he was expecting. It’s good, but it’s not right, it’s not him. No matter how much he wishes it were.
Wanting something and having it is not the same thing.
Dean blinks at him, hands dropping to his sides, empty. “It’s complicated.”
Cas stares back. He isn’t the being that first pulled Dean out of Hell or the one that smelled of smoke and sex and sadness in a tragic future, but is something in between. Otherworldly and strange, but somehow still touchable.
He stands silent in the center of the room, and Dean revolves around him.
Or they revolve around each other.
Cas came when he called. He called, and Cas answered.
“What about you?” Dean asks. “Did you get what you wanted?”
Looking away toward the window, the door, Cas refuses to meet his eyes. “It is…complicated.”
That stings.
“Did you really want to come back, Cas?”
Cas looks at him again—his eyes are very blue—and disappears between one heartbeat and the next.
“You still suck at goodbyes, Cas!” Dean yells.
He never gets a response.
