Chapter Text
“I still think you were insane for driving the entire way here. Like you drove 35 hours, that’s clinical behaviour. You willingly drove through Utah. No one willingly drives through Utah.”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, Dean couldn’t help but grin. It was hard to take Charlie seriously when she was in lightsaber patterned pajama pants and grogu slippers. She leaned against the wall next to the fireplace in the living room, boxed stacked on either side of her. The towers were nearly as tall as she was and Dean’s scratchy writing made itself known as it labelled them kitchen boxes.
“Yeah religious fundamentalism and bigamy aren’t my thing but they know how to make a dirty soda. I was skeptical with the creamer and all but that shit wasn't bad.”
“We’re not stocking the fridge with creamer. We're strictly a fridge cigarettes household.”
“What the fuck is a fridge cigarette?”
Charlie grinned at Dean as she pushed off of the wall. “Wow the millennial doesn’t know what a fridge cigarette is. You just dated yourself old man.”
“Don’t make me remind you which one of us has the adult job right now that pays the bills. Now stop mocking me and get dressed. I’m not going furniture shopping with you in your pajamas.”
"Yeah cuz your grubby flannel is so much better." She retorted, sticking her tongue out at Dean before she turned and wandered out of the living room, vanishing into her bedroom. They’d been in Cali for three days and in that time they’d managed to unpack half of the kitchen and not much else. It was hard to unpack anything else when there wasn’t furniture to put anywhere. There was supposed to be furniture but the landlord had taken most of it and Dean hadn’t been in the mood to argue with him about it. They had two plates, a few mugs, some cutlery, and a coffee maker and that would do. Sure they had half built bedframes and shitty air mattresses but those didn't count as furniture in Dean's book
The drive from Michigan to California had been the longest drive of Dean’s life but he hadn’t minded it in the slightest. There was a strange kind of peace that came with travelling alone knowing the destination was something you’d worked towards. He’d worked his entire life for a friend, a stable home, a stable job and now he’d found it. Granted he hadn’t expected his friend to be redheaded twenty four year old but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Remind me what we’re looking for again today?” Charlie asked as she reappeared, dressed more appropriately in jeans and a purple cat sweater.
“Well you’ve got your bedroom stuff and I’ve ordered mine so it’s just stuff for the living room and kitchen. So tables, chairs, couch, bookshelves, that kinda thing. Figure we hit up the thrift shops before trying ikea or something. Might get stuff with an actual personality for a reasonable price.”
“Yeah but we’re not gonna fit anything in your car and I don’t have a car anymore so that’s an issue.”
“Not if you thought ahead like I did.” Dean said as he held up a set of keys. “Rented a truck with a bed big enough to fit furniture. Now come on, I don’t wanna be out all day.”
Knowing better than to argue with Dean when he had his mind set on something, Charlie simply nodded her head and left the house. She climbed into the cab but didn’t touch the radio, hands kept firmly in her lap. Dean was particular and she’d heard “driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole” one too many time for her liking. She'd also heard Black Sabbath's discography about 18 times but classic rock was non-negotiable when Dean drove.
“Still feels weird to be living with someone in a house that isn’t falling apart. Haven’t had a roommate since I was 17. Please tell me you’re not one of those asshole roommates.” She teased. "if I have to make a chore chart with a white board and little stickers, I will commit murder."
“I’ll eat your takeout if you piss me off but no, m’not an asshole roommate. Besides, my work schedule’s kind of insane once that starts up. Long shifts and kinda weird days, not the 24 hour shifts I’m used to. Guess they do it differently here.”
“So you’re gonna be traipsing in at an ungodly hour eating everything in sight like an unsupervised mogwai? Got it. I’ll make sure to lock up my good stuff.”
“Only sometimes. Rotating shifts so days for two weeks and then nights for two weeks with like a 3 on 2 off, 2 on 3 off, 2 on 2 off schedule. I don’t remember all the details exactly but I know that for a fact.”
Charlie let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Couldn’t be me, that’s insane. But I guess my class schedule is gonna be a little insane so who knows, maybe we’ll both be chowing down at 2 am.”
“You got in? Dude you should've told me the second you found out so I could celebrate with you. When do you start?”
“The new semester so January. I’d kind of taken some classes sporadically in the past, just like online, so I’m pretty much on par with where everyone else is now. I’ve never actually done the whole uni thing so it’s gonna be cool. I’m gonna feel a little old cuz everyone else is like 18 but that’s not really that big of a deal I guess.”
Dean nodded along as he pulled into the parking lot of the first shop on their list. He and Charlie had spent hours talking about their future and what they’d planned to do and he’d been the one to push that she go to school. She’d always wanted to and Dean had seen what she was able to do with computers. Already she was a shoe in. When he’d reassured her that he’d be making enough for both of them, plus the money earned from selling her inherited home in Port Maren, she’d caved and agreed.
“You call yourself old and then I feel fucking ancient next to you.” He muttered as he parked, the engine shutting off with a rattle.
“I’ll look after you in your old age, I solemnly swear. Only the best tapioca for you.”
"Rice pudding's better, just fyi."
Charlie shook her head but didn't bother to respond and simply followed Dean into the shop. Part antique shop and part thrift store, the shop itself felt like stepping into another era. Rather than separate it by category, it was separated by era. To Dean’s left was pre 1900s and to his right the modern trappings, furniture and clothing seemingly piled high with no organization. He turned to see where Charlie wanted to start but she’d already wandered off in the direction of the 60s and 70s, lured over by the bright colours that already hurt Dean’s eyes.
A foreign feeling settled in Dean as he wandered toward the Edwardian section. It buzzed faintly beneath his skin, tingling at his fingertips as it warmed him. Part of it was relief and acceptance wrapped up into a neat bow. Finally he was moving on and deciding what he wanted to do with his life. It was his home he was furnishing. It was his new job he’d be starting in the New Year. It was his choice to reconcile with Sam. John would always remain, Dean could feel his presence in the deepest buried parts of himself, but his father was only a whisper now. There wasn’t a shambling corpse following behind him everywhere he went.
With the relief and the acceptance came excitement, soft and swift like the fluttering of butterfly wings in his chest. For the first time in his life, Dean was excited to pick out furniture for his space. He was excited to nest and make memories, excited to see what the future held. There was someone to make the memories with, someone who didn’t judge him and hadn’t run away. Words would never explain what that truly meant to him.
Even the thought of Cas was exciting, though the lack of calls and texts was quickly dampening that feeling. Of course there had to be a grace period while Cas rebuilt his life and processed his trauma and Dean didn’t begrudge that fact. What he did begrudge was that he couldn’t help Cas with it because it wasn’t his place. He ached for that text or phone call from Cas, for the permission to step in and make it better. Dean couldn’t help the urge and he’d tried to bury it for years but it kept sprouting up again like a weed in a cracked sidewalk. Helping people filled the aching void in him, it always had. Helping Cas would fill it completely.
A glint of silver on the left of the aisle stopped Dean dead in his tracks and he glanced down, eyes landing on a ring on display. Engraved vines covered the surface of the ring and gave it a patterned appearance. He reached for it without thinking, lost in the smog of his own thoughts. It looked vaguely like something he remembered his mother wearing.
“Dude, I totally found our couch.”
Charlie’s voice, loud and directly behind Dean, startled him. He flinched, the jolt of his body sending the point of his elbow into Charlie’s chest. She stepped back with a curse, rubbing at her collarbone when Dean turned around.
“You know that sneaking up on me is a bad idea.” He mumbled. “Sorry about trying to take you out.”
“Wasn’t sneaking, you were just lost in thought but I’ll take it. I found our couch. Wanna come see it?”
“Is this a couch we’re both going to like?”
Charlie shrugged her shoulders before she led Dean to the 1970s section. The couch she stopped them in front of was burnt orange and when Dean ran his fingers across the ridged surface he shuddered. Corduroy was one thing and velour another but this was an ungodly amalgamation of the two. He hated the couch but the second he glanced over at Charlie and saw her expression of glee, he gave in.
“There’s a matching armchair too.” She beamed, gesturing to the chair beside the couch. “Might fill out the living room more.”
“We can get them. Just gonna have to be a little more selective about the rest of the furniture is all. We need a natural wood for the coffee table, something stained darker preferably. Walnut maybe. Or cherry if you wanna spring for the real fancy adult shit.”
Charlie’s grin widened as she snatched the tags from the furniture before anyone else could take them. Dean shook his head with a fond amusement before he decided to wander with her, trying to see if they could find something else to fill up the truck bed before they left. In the end the pair left with the couch, armchair, and a nice dark stained walnut coffee table Dean had fallen in love with.
On the drive back home, Dean was quiet. Fake obligatory griping about how expensive even thrifted furniture was aside, he just couldn’t quite believe all of this was real and coming true. It was Charlie that broke the silence again, setting her half eaten lunch back in the bag.
“You’re not having an aneurysm about the price are you?”
“A little but no. Just got a lot on my mind.”
Charlie nodded her head in agreement. She knew exactly what Dean meant by that. It was overwhelming starting a brand new life in somewhere she’d never been before but it was thrilling too. They had each other and a home and prospects and she’d only had one of those a year ago. Dean shouldn’t have been her friend, he was too loud and brash and particular but it worked. Part of Charlie thought it was the trauma of losing both parents but there had to be more to it than that. Maybe it was what they brought to the table for each other that made it work. Dean was understanding and experienced, clearly aching to be an older brother again and Charlie was inexperienced and trying to find guidance.
“I know, I can’t believe all of this is real either. Still feel like I’m gonna wake up back in Port Maren hating my life. But you’ve got that mildly constipated look so it’s more than that.”
“I keep thinking about Cas.” Dean admitted as he pulled into the driveway. “Can we put this on pause until we get the furniture inside?”
“I’m holding you to that Winchester.”
Dean mumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he hopped out of the truck. Hauling the furniture into the house and the empty living room was a two man job and as much as he loved Charlie, her chicken arms weren’t the most useful when it came to lugging around heavy furniture. Dean’s hands ached, bordering on spasming when he finally collapsed onto the couch he hated.
Perching on the wide arm of the chair, Charlie turned her attention to Dean. “So, Cas is on your mind. Are we talking general thought or like horny dreams bad? Because I don’t care either way but I wanna know if I should be knocking on your bedroom door before I enter.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, jesus. I’m not having dreams about him. I’m just worried about him. I mean he’s called me once since he left and it’s already December. Like I know he’s back at home and his family’s okay but I don’t know if he’s okay.”
“So call him or text him, problem solved.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow, less than impressed. “And why not? What bs excuse have you conjured up this time?”
“Trauma windows, dude. He’s got to work through all of his shit and rebuild his life and yeah theoretically me being a support would be great but the dynamic complicates it. The feelings complicate it.”
“So keep it in your pants. Jesus you men are insufferable with that shit. You don’t hear the lesbians complaining about not being able to keep it in our pants every time there’s a complicated situationship.” Charlie said. She meant to come across as well meaning but her words came out harsher than expected and she felt bad when she saw Dean’s jaw clench. “I get where you’re coming from but I think you’re just afraid of what you two could be now that he’s human and you’re in the same state. You’re not exactly Mr. healthy relationship.”
“Can we not psychoanlayze me?”
“Hey you asked and I answered but fine. I’m gonna go unpack more of my shit. Don’t have a crisis while I’m gone.”
Dean sighed deeply before waving Charlie away. He settled into the couch which he found surprisingly comfortable and closed his eyes for a nap. The furniture shopping had tired him out and he had a lot to think about when it came to a certain dark haired blue eyed man.
~
“Crisse, if I have to sit through another sexual harassment seminar I’m going to kill someone.” Cas muttered, head in his hands.
Meg, who had ducked into their home office on her way past, simply grinned at him. “Be thankful you missed the pride month one all about being an ally that somehow alienated all of the queer staff. That would’ve made you pull out all your hair. You get to the part about inter staff relationships yet?”
“Am I going to find a picture of you and Ruby on it when I do?”
“Maybe.” She grinned. “But that didn’t work out. She’s cool and all but we’re not compatible.”
“Yeah you’d have better luck pisser dans un violon. You’re both too hot headed. You need someone mellower, less dominating.”
“C'est moi, beacoup dominating energy here. Probably more than enough for both of us.”
Cas laughed in response. Meg hadn’t changed a bit and he was glad her humour was the way it was. It was hard to be miserable when he was being visually assaulted by the image of his best friend in leather. That had been a wild scene to accidentally walk into. He shut the laptop and turned in the chair, eyebrow raising.
“You’re dressed awfully nice.”
Meg curtsied, the deep v of her blood red blouse giving Cas more than an eyeful. The leather of her wide legged pants creaked when she straightened up, her bracelets clinking as she leaned back on her cane. She’d even done her makeup, sharp eyeliner and a dark glossy lip.
“Duh, I have a first date tonight.”
“Hey I don’t know your schedule.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Is this a normal first date or like a Meg typical first date?”
“Painfully normal.”
“Do I get any details?”
Meg thought for a moment before shaking her head. “You can have them when I get home. Just take a load off and chill tonight. I just cleaned the tub, maybe have a bubble bath or something.”
“Yeah yeah. Now shoo, go enjoy whatever you’re doing.”
Meg flashed Cas one more toothy grin before she left, her perfume lingering in his nostrils. Blood orange and something distinctly woody, Meg had always liked scents that hovered between pleasant and strange. It seemed to match her personality.
Knowing he had nothing better to do for the rest of the night, Cas decided Meg’s suggestion of a bath was excellent. The showers he’d been taking, while nice and enough to get him clean, didn’t feel truly luxurious. A bath felt more luxurious, even if the thought of sitting in a tub of water squeezed his chest with a vicelike grip. He couldn’t be afraid forever, not when his career and his sanity depended on it.
Cas was quiet as he made his way to the bathroom, crouching down next to the tub. As the water warmed up he chucked some Epsom salt into the bottom of the tub and when the water ran hot but tolerable on his inner wrist, he plugged the drain and let the bath fill up. Halfway through Cas poured in a few capfuls of bubble bath, watching the bubbles foam up and spread.
“Please be nice to me. I just want to relax.”
Stripping out of his clothes, Cas stepped into the tub. The heat curled around his legs as he lowered himself into the water, the sensation not unpleasant just different. He’d never been sure what the appropriate way to relax in a bath was and he felt that now as he sat there, distinctly aware of the water level as it bobbed just below his pecs. Nowhere near his face, the water level was tolerable. As long as he was awake, he would be fine.
Around the ten minute mark the tingles began, spreading beneath his skin in a wave of small prickles. Cas shifted in the bath, frowning. The water had cooled to the comfortable edge of warm, certainly not hot enough to affect his skin. At twelve minutes Cas glanced down at his arms and legs. Angry red welts dotted his limbs and the longer he stared, the more the tingling concentrated and warped. It itched now and the urge to scratch was nearly overwhelming.
“I swear to god I’m allergic to your bath shit Meg.” Cas muttered as he reached for the bottle of bubble bath. He turned it over to read the ingredients. By fifteen minutes sweat was beading on Cas’ forehead and the tingling was borderline burning, overheating beneath his skin. His fingers rubbed at the angry welts on his arms, absentminded in their action.
When Cas’ fingers closed around the edge of the tub and he made his move to get out, the rubber band of sensation inside him finally snapped.
His wet hand gripped the tub’s edge as the burning tore through him, turning his vision fuzzy at the edges. The heat bloomed from inside him, white hot and violent as it forced him to double over. With it came the final shred of Cas’ carefully built resistance. His fingernails dug into the welts on his arm, an animalistic desperation to claw the itch out in full force. The burning dulled for a moment before it returned in full force, knocking the wind from Cas’ lungs in a pained gasp. Vison still fuzzy he dared to look at his arm and bile rose in his throat.
His red mottled flesh hung in ribbons from where he’d scratched and beneath it was a familiar flash of silver. Cas blinked in stunned silence, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. With a trembling hand he touched the silver. His recoil was instant, instinctual. Scales sat, shimmering and rigid, beneath the remaining ribbons of flesh.
“God, no.” Cas whispered, choked voice full of dawning horror. “Please no.”
There was no response in the humid tiled bathroom, no god willing to listen to his fruitless plea.
White hot pain ripped through his gut like a knife and Cas clutched at it, bath water foamy red as it parted beneath his hands. Claws erupted from the tips of his fingers, fingernails floating to find their place of rest on his shaking thighs. His temples throbbed and railroad spike pain shot down his spine.
A sharp crack echoed from within his leg and Cas clapped a clawed hand to his mouth to muffle the scream. If the neighbours heard they would call the cops for sure. Darkness clouded his vision and Cas was helpless to resist the changes as he sank beneath the water.
One by one, teeth fell from his gums as newer sharper teeth tore through the delicate flesh. A metallic tang filled his mouth as the bloody bathwater filled his lungs but it didn’t burn, not compared to the lines splitting his neck into segments and the bones in his legs fusing together. Cas thrashed weakly in the tub, water sloshing over the sides and onto the white tile. With a final burst of energy Cas managed to pull himself from the tub.
He hit the tile with a wet thwack and stilled for a moment before the violent shocks of transformation continued their assault on his body. Tearing at his skin with his alligator claws, his flesh sloughed off in neat little piles. Tears streamed down Cas’ face, sliding into his mouth and mixing with the blood and snot.
His mind flashed with visions of six years ago, of Lake Maren and what it had done to him. What it was still doing to him. Of course he hadn’t gotten away scot free. That would’ve been too easy.
The tile was cool against his overheating body and when Cas blinked, vision returning in fuzzy spurts, the full length mirror on the back of the door was right there. He squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears pouring from them. Cas knew what he looked like, the claws and scales and teeth and he couldn’t bear to see it. If he saw it then it was real and not some fucked up dream in his head.
Cas didn’t know when but eventually he succumbed to the pain and the blood loss, consciousness slipping from his grasp like a quick fish.
~
In the impossible weightless darkness there was movement, bubbles racing toward the surface. They slipped past Cas’ bare feet and caressed his aching legs, tickling past his chest. Cas blinked slowly, cramping hands shifted as he turned in the darkness. Eyes trained on the endless pitch beneath him, Cas watched.
A voice, booming and all encompassing, came at him from every angle, piercing his ears and drilling straight into his skull.
“I collect what is mine. You are mine, Castiel.”
Heart jumping in his chest, Cas turned his head to the endless darkness above and began to swim. The voice spoke again, louder.
“You cannot escape your fate Castiel.”
Cas kicked harder, aching lungs burning in his chest. Futile at best, still Cas kicked and swam. The darkness lessened, pitch black turning murky brown and sandy green and nearly clear. His fingers grazed the surface as a claw closed around his ankle and pulled him back into the darkness. The Lake spoke one more time, loud and darkly satisfied.
“You will always come back to me.”
~
Cool slick tile greeted Cas when he roused, the post-cry ache in his eyes dull in comparison to the rest of his body. His fingers were curled in on themselves like claws, arms pressed between his chest and the floor. Railroad spike pain bounced around his skull and shot down his neck where it joined the familiar ache of his spine. He’d been taken apart and put back together wrong. As he shifted and rolled onto his back, his hip popped and he winced.
Cas’ throat was dry and his lips scabbing over like they’d been bitten through, a perfect match to the shredded skin and broken fingernails on his hands. When the wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him, Cas moaned out in pain. It was too much, too much sensation for one man.
The memory of what had happened came rushing back into his mind and he shot up, crying out again when his body tensed. It felt like he’d touched a live wire, every muscle tense and every nerve alight with pain. He could barely focus through the fog of it all but the sobering sight in front of him cut through the fog like a knife through butter.
In front of him was the tub, still full of foamy bloody water. Blood dried on the tiles, bright red red streaks turning rusty brown as they flaked off. It looked like Cas had taken a knife to someone in the bathroom and when his eyes fell just beside the tub, he nearly threw up. Strips of skin, sticky and damp with blood and water, hung from the tub and peppered the floor as if Cas had flung them about. Buried in the piles were flashes of pearly white teeth and dark tipped nails. Bile rose in his throat before he could stop it and Cas gagged, hand clapped over his mouth. The smell hit him now, sickly sweet and a little musky like rotting meat and overripe fruit.
It hadn’t been a dream.
He hadn’t escaped Lake Maren.
There was no time to process what he was seeing or what it meant because a thought was occurring to him. Meg lived there. Meg, who was out on a date, lived there. Cas didn’t know what time it was or how much time had passed and the lightning strike of panic in his chest was enough to spur him into action. Dragging himself to the bathroom sink and opening the doors, Cas rummaged around for what he needed.
Gloves went onto his aching cramping hands while water and bleach went into a bucket. Pulling out the stopper to let the tub drain was done without looking, Cas too afraid to see how dark the water truly was. The shed skin squelched between his fingers as he picked it up and shoved it into trash bags. With the skin went the nails, teeth, and clumps of hair Cas picked up gingerly. He patted the top of his head after that, relieved to find that he still had all of his hair.
With the viscera gone, Cas set to work cleaning the remainder of the bathroom. The scent of bleach reacting with blood filled the air and the fumes filled his nostrils. It set a strange buzzing in the back of his skull, a welcome different pain than the ache that lingered. While he worked, Cas willed his mind to empty. He wasn’t going to think about Lake Maren or the bath or the horrific transformation or anything supernatural. Now was not the time to fall apart.
His knees creaked and popped as Cas finally rose to his feet and tossed the rags into the bag of viscera. No amount of laundering was going to remove the bloodstains. Only when he’d cleaned the bathroom did he realize he hadn’t cleaned himself, Cas reached for the final rag and lathered it with soap and warm water, heart hammering at the thought of water touching his skin again. There was no choice though, not if he wanted to keep this secret from Meg. The dried blood came away with little effort but the scrape of the cloth over Cas’ aching bruised skin left it red and raw.
Even the clothing he threw on, a soft long sleeve and sweats, felt far too rough against his raw skin. Everything that touched him was too much, too overwhelming. It rubbed against his skin, boxed him in, reminded him far too much of what had just happened. But less clothing would mean more questions.
Cas disposed of the evidence in the trash can out back before he made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the bottle of wine. Neither he nor Meg drank much but there was always a bottle on hand for emergencies. A beaver and a cheeky name, frisky beaver, greeted him on the label but it didn’t bring a smile to his face. The beaver’s joyous expression felt empty, mocking even.
Cas didn’t bother with a glass, simply twisting off the cap and taking a long swig. Burning warmth bloomed in his raw throat but he didn’t care and took another swig. At least he was causing himself the pain this time. This was pain he could control, pain he could measure. It was his pain and his alone.
The thought that he should just give in to exhaustion and go to bed crossed his mind but the nightmares he knew would come for him quickly disavowed him of that notion. Doing more modules and organizing for work was out of the question too. Focus was an impossibility. Standing in the kitchen wasn’t doing any good either and the wine wasn’t working fast enough to keep the thoughts at bay.
Cas ended up on the couch with the bottle of wine and some sitcom he didn’t recognize but knew was popular playing in the background. For a while the fake laugh tracks and poorly aged jokes distracted him but memory began to creep back in, disguised by the foggy warmth of his dwindling sobriety. The buzz in his head matched the feeling working its way through the rest of his body, a strange mix of newly remembered pain and bittersweet panic.
His phone sat on the coffee table and with every glance at it, Cas felt worse. The logical rational side of him screamed at him to call Dean. He was the one other person who would understand, the one person who would drop everything to see if Cas was okay. That’s what Cas needed, the strong arms around him and the caring voice and the unconditional worry. But he wouldn’t get it. Not tonight.
Calling Dean meant more than just calling. It meant admitting this was happening and that Lake Maren hadn’t let him go. It meant telling Dean that what he’d done hadn’t worked the way it was supposed to. It meant looking into the eyes of a man who had just picked up the pieces of his own life and dashing it back to pieces. Dean had been through so much and as much as Cas wanted him, Dean didn’t deserve more pain.
Meg’s voice echoed in the entryway a few minutes later, loud enough to beard and positive enough to tell that the date had been successful.
“Hey, I’m back!” The clunk of boots being kicked off echoed in the house and then Meg made her appearance, hovering just behind the couch. Her nose wrinkled and then she sniffed. “Why’s it smell like bleach?”
That caught Cas’ attention and he tipped his head back, the motion making his head spin. “Cleaned the bathroom.”
“You never use bleach for the bathroom. You always say it smells like death. Also I cleaned the bathroom this morning.”
Cas shrugged and reached for the bottle of wine, frown deepening when he realized it was empty. When had that happened?
“You’re off.” Meg mumbled as she slid over the back of the couch to sit next to Cas. She winced as she did so but swallowed the curse before it slipped out. Her eyes scanned over Cas in the flickering light of the tv, taking in his bitten through lips and the faint mottled bruising on his neck. She was 80% sure that hadn’t been there when she’d left. While the shirt and sweats weren’t unusual, she knew enough to know what the clothing and the way Cas was sitting meant. It meant bone deep pain so vast no one else could possibly understand. It meant numbing yourself just so the pain was tolerable. It was trying not to drown in rough waters. “What happened?”
Cas blinked at her as if she’d asked the most obvious question in the world.
When Meg didn’t get a verbal response she reached for Cas’ hand, studying the bruised broken nails and the raw torn skin. Her touch was gentle, concerned, the kind of touch shared when you wanted to take care of someone.
That touch broke Cas.
A choked sob tore from his throat and when that dam burst, the waterworks started. He only realized he was crying when he felt the hot tears sliding down his cheeks and that realization, that water on his face, made him cry harder. There was no explanation he could give Meg that would satisfy her and even if he wanted to, the words just wouldn’t come out.
With no other option – no way to explain away the breakdown and booze and bruises – Cas buried his face in Meg’s shoulder and let the wave of sobs sweep him back into the deep memory filled waters of his tenure at Lake Maren.