Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hey, go easy on him.”

“What?” The line between Dean’s brow is deeper than ever as he snaps his head in Sam’s direction. He finds his brother watching him intently as he steps off the curb. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Cas,” Sam says with a huff.

“You-- shut up, Sam.”

Sam looks away and pauses a beat. Then, “No. Y’know what, Dean? No. I’m not gonna shut up.”

Dean stops in his tracks and Sam nearly barrels into him. He doesn’t give a shit that they’re standing in the middle of the street. He gives a shit about his brother poking around in business that isn’t his; putting his nose where it doesn’t belong. “‘Scuse me?” Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s getting into, and Dean’s really not in the fucking mood to deal with it.

Sam’s mouth thins out, and he huffs through his nose. Dean has half a mind to poke the festering bullet wound in Sam’s shoulder as payback for this conversation. “You think Cas wanted any of this to happen? You think Cas thought--”

“No, he didn’t think,” Dean snaps, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “He never does.”

Scoffing, Sam presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s funny coming from you.”

Dean shifts his stance and tips his head to the side. “You got a problem?”

“Yeah, I do. Cas is family, Dean. You’ve said it yourself a million times. And he cared about Jack more than any of us. He cared about mom. He’s grieving, too. And-and-and the first sign of trouble, you’re willing to just write him off like he means nothing? I saw you when he died, Dean. I kept my distance, and kept my mouth shut, but I saw you. This,” he gestures generally, somewhere behind Dean, “this whole cold-shoulder act… you’re not doing anyone any good.”

“Sam--”

“I’m not done.” Dean’s jaw twitches, but he stays silent. “Whether you like to admit it or not, we need him. You,” Sam pokes Dean’s chest, and Dean wants to break his finger, “need him. You always do. What happened with Jack-- with-with mom? It wasn’t his fault. You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at Chuck. Or all the monsters and ghosts we’re about to face. But not him.”

Sam doesn’t give him a chance to retort before he shoulders past Dean and trudges up the steps toward the school. Dean feels heat creeping up his neck, and he huffs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck.” As if the last two days haven’t been trying enough, now he’s got Sam on his case about Cas. And Cas… fuck. Fuck!

He sucks in a breath and grunts to himself, like he’s working up to something before he heads up the steps toward the school doors. Everything is a goddamn clusterfuck, and he can’t tell which way is up.

The sheriff accosts him before the door’s even closed, and Dean rattles of some instructions to keep the locals busy for a while. Buy him some time to figure things out. The sheriff heads back toward the gymnasium and Dean heads for the all outside the admin office, and he catches Cas’s eyes as Cas turns the corner, looking perturbed. Cas, for what it’s worth, looks away, seeming to give Dean the space he wants. Or, at the very least, Dean thinks he wants.

Dean has half a mind to let it go, let Cas walk right on by, but as their shoulders nearly brush each other, Dean scrubs a hand over his mouth and swears to himself. He stops a few paces away and closes his eyes. “Cas.” He’s not even sure Cas hears him until Dean hears the quiet clacking of his soles on the tile stop. Dean drops his hand and turns, finding Cas watching him, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Shit,” Dean mutters. He looks around, shifting his weight, and finally tilts his head toward the empty hallway to his left. “Can we talk?”

“About what?”

Well, fuck. Cas is in one of those moods. The stubborn kind. The kind that reminds Dean of when they first met, and it settles an ache in his chest, weighing heavy on his heart. “You-- about--” He huffs, clears his throat, and wipes a hand over his mouth. Beyond the double doors behind Cas, he hears the squeaking of shoes on the gym’s linoleum floor; the quiet hum of voices engaged in various conversations, no doubt lobbing questions at Sam, the sheriff, and his staff. With a grunt, his eyes shift back to Cas’s irritated face, and he tries again. “Can we just talk?”

Cas’s mouth is set in a firm line, and he stares at Dean a beat too long for comfort. Finally, he sighs, as if put out by the inconvenience of Dean’s existence, and steps past Dean into the deserted hallway. Dean waits a moment, lifts his eyes to the ceiling to compose himself, and follows. Cas is waiting silently beside a door labeled ‘Art -- Room 401’ and he’s watching Dean closely.

Dean turns, kicking his toe against an empty locker. It echoes down the hallway, and he raps his knuckles against the cool metal. He’s stalling. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. It doesn’t sound much like words; more a jumbled mess of letters like ‘msrrr’. Cas certainly notices.

“What?”

With a huff of exasperation, Dean whirls around on his heel to look at Cas directly. “I’m sorry,” he sais, more forceful than intended. Cas looks taken aback, and Dean’s face softens. “I-- The kid…” He heaves a breath, pushing his hands in the pockets of his FBI windbreaker as he looks down at his feet. He toes at a scuff mark and tries to collect his thoughts; tries his best to rearrange the Scrabble pieces in his mind into a coherent statement. “I know,” he starts slowly, his gaze still fixed on his shoes. Why are apologies so goddamn hard? “I know you’re havin’ a rough time with the kid. ‘N’ I’m sorry.”

He hears Cas sigh, and he doesn’t even have to look up to know the look he’s getting: Cas’s head tilted to the side, his brows drawn together, his lips curved in a frown. “Dean.”

“I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.” He’s surprised with himself, admitting he’s wrong. Maybe the world really is ending. “I just… You-- he killed-- he… Mom’s gone. Again. And there ain’t no reset button, y’know?” His voice dips, and he clears his throat to try to hide the shakiness. “All my life, I wanted her back. ‘N’ I had her. ‘N’ then I didn’t, ‘n’ I--”

“Dean.” Dean sniffs, and Cas continues. He hears the footsteps as Cas approaches. Feels the warmth of his closeness. “You have every right to be upset to lose your mother.” Cas’s hand is on his shoulder. “But, Dean, I lost someone, too.”

“I know, man, I know.” He tilts his head and lifts his eyes from the floor to Cas’s eyes.

“We’ve all made mistakes. I ignored the signs when I should have said something--”

Sam was right about this, Dean decides. They’re all at fault. But Cas is the easiest to lash out at. He always is. It’s not fair of him, he knows. If anything, he should be kinder to Cas than he is, but… it seems it’s easier for Dean than admitting the truth: Dean is not only wrong, but a coward. “Nah.” He cuts Cas off with a shake of his head, and he reaches out to grab a fistfull of trenchcoat. “We all saw it. But we--”

“Hoped.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth turns up. “Yeah. Hoped. Not mucha that goin’ around these days, but, I dunno.” Cas’s hands shifts to the base of Dean’s neck. “This is all so fucked, Cas. I mean, the end, y’know? I told Sammy I liked the odds -- him ‘n’ me against Hell, but I gotta be honest with you, I’m not seein’ a way outta this.”

Cas’s thumb brushes the space below Dean’s ear and he leans closer. “We’ll figure it out, Dean. We will find a way. We always do. All of us. Me, you, Sam--”

“Team Free Will,” Dean huffs.

Cas smiles -- actually fucking smiles. “Yes. Team Free Will. Seems felicitous now more than ever.”

Blinking, Dean exhales quickly. He doesn’t know what felicitous means, but he thinks he gets the gist of it. “Yeah.” His thumb brushes one of Cas’s lapels. “Listen, I know it’s rough, seein’ that asshole ridin’ around in Jack, but--”

“You need him, I know.”

“We need him, Cas. We’ll take care of it, sooner or later, but for now--”

“For the greater good. I’m aware.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

Cas tilts his head, and Dean feels that ache of affection. “What?”

“That you were dead to me.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if his own words bring him physical pain. “I could never--” he sucks in a breath that he releases through his nose like he’s trying to keep from getting sick. “I didn’t mean it, Cas.”

Cas is quiet for a beat, and then, “of course, Dean. I know.”

“No.” Dean opens his eyes. “No, I need you to hear it. I’d never wish that. God, losin’ you nearly fuckin’ broke me. I need you to really understand that I--”

“I know, Dean,” Cas says again. His thumb strokes the hinge of Dean’s jaw. “I know.”

The deep line between his brows smoothes out just a little, and he licks his lips as he leans back against the lockers, pulling Cas closer. “C’mere.” The halls are still deserted, and he wants to take advantage of the brief moment they have alone. He thinks, end of the world, right? Fuck it. He wrangles his other hand out of his pocket and grasps the back of Cas’s head, pressing their foreheads together when he’s close enough. He doesn’t give Cas to speak first. “Just-- shut up.” These moments are usually reserved for complete solitude -- Sam snoozing away down the hall or in the other motel room; nights in the Impala when Sam’s off doing research. Moments just for each other, under the cover of secrecy. Not in the hallway of a highschool with a whole town worth of people a coupla hundred feet away.

“I didn’t say anything.” Cas’s free hand palms Dean’s hip.

“You were gonna. Just--just don’t.” He closes his eyes and breathes in deep. Cas always smells so good, it’s always been hard to ignore when they’re not alone. Like an oncoming storm in summer. Something almost indescribable. It’s distinct. It puts him on edge and calms him all at once.

“I wasn’t.” Dean doesn’t open his eyes, but he can hear the smile in Cas’s voice.

Tipping his head, his lips brush against Cas’s, and he inhales slowly. Cas’s lips part, moving against Dean’s, and he swallows a groan. His fingers curl in Cas’s hair, the tip of his tongue meeting Cas’s. It’s a nice distraction from the universe crumbling around them. He focuses on the feeling, on the taste, on--

A slow clap echoes through the hall and they part, both turning toward the sound. Dean stands up straight, his face set in a look that could burn a hole through the sun. Belphegor stands at the apex of the corridors, watching them with a smirk. “I had a feeling there wouldn’t be trouble in paradise for long,” he quips. “The famous love story is too good to end!”

“I-- what?” Dean snaps.

“Oh, Dean Winchester and his Angel.” Belphegor speaks so matter-of-factly and cheerfuly, Dean wants to put his fist right through his face. “It’s everyone’s favorite soap downstairs!” He leans forward like he’s letting them in on a secret, pushing his hands into his jacket pocket. “We might be demons, but we’re not averse to a little romance, y’know. We like to have something to root for!”

Dean growls and stalks toward the gymnasium, and settles for shoulder-checking Belphegor as he passes. “Shut up. Cas, let’s go.”

He hears Cas’s footsteps, and Belphegor behind him, “Don’t want to keep the hubby waiting-- Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean turns to find Cas gripping him by the shirt, his angel blade once again pressed to his throat.

“Cas, let him go. We talked about this. Let-- hey. Let him go.” Cas finally does as Dean asks and releases Belphegor with a shove.

“When this is over,” Cas turns to Dean as they step away from the abomination and head for the gymnasium together, “I will make him pay.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. But just-- y-- not yet, okay? Not yet.”

Cas straightens his trenchcoat and huffs. “Fine.”

Dean reaches out before they reach the double doors and straightens Cas’s lapel. “Y’know, for what it’s worth… I don’t think your coat is stupid.” He offers a nod, turns, and disappears through the doors, with a new resolve to fix this insanity and, once again, stop the goddamn apocalypse.