“I’m telling you ‘no’, Sam. I will not talk to Cas.”
Sam and Dean got back to their motel and continued an argument which they had been having in the car. The fight against the apocalypse was at a stalemate, they knew they couldn’t kill Lucifer and they knew that he wasn’t gonna kill them either. Not as long as they were needed as heavenly vessels, that is.
So, whenever they stopped to think about the daunting prospects of the end of the world, Sam always started to argue with Dean about another topic.
There was nothing that Dean regretted more than to get roaring drunk after Ellen and Jo had died and to confessing to Sam and Bobby that he had irrevocably fallen in love with Cas and didn‘t think the angel would ever reciprocate his feelings.
You couldn’t blame a guy for spilling their guts when drunk, Dean thought. Alcohol makes one hell of a truth serum after all. But Dean wondered time and again if he hadn’t spilled too much, because whenever Sam wasn’t hammering him about killsure ways to end the devil, he started on the ‘Dean/Cas getting together front.’
“Dean, you really should talk to him. He deserves to know that you love him because I think he’s in love with you as well.”
“He’s not.” Dean’s intestines decided that it was time to shrink to half their diameter as he said that. “I don’t think angels can even feel that way, and you remember Uriel calling us ‘mud monkeys’? Maybe Cas secretly feels the same about us and would be disgusted if I came at him.”
“I don’t think he would, Dean. He likes you and he carried you out of hell, remember?”
“Dude, no. He always said he ‘gripped me tight and raised me from perdition’. He, I dunno, angel mojo’d me out by my shoulder, and besides, he did it because of orders, nothing more. You can’t go on that if you think the guy…angel… whatever actually gives a crap about me.”
“You don’t really believe that do you? I mean, it’s pretty obvious that he likes you, more than me for starters.”
“Yeah, can’t say I blame him. You were all hopped up on demon blood when you guys met. Obviously he has reservations.”
“Yeah, thanks Dean. Very necessary reminder. As if I could ever forget that.” Sam raked his hands through his hair and then looked at Dean again with one of his priced bitchfaces.
Dean sighed internally. Probably not a good idea to mention that particular era of Sam’s life if he ever wanted to have a bit of peace from this conversation.
Sure enough, Sam started again: “All I’m saying is that the way Cas says it, he hasn’t just lifted you out, but he held you ‘tight’. Probably against his chest to lift the weight of your soul out of the pit. I dunno, Dean. It seems like something you guys need to talk about, because when someone holds someone like that it’s a pretty intimate touch.”
Sam creased his brow sympathetically as Dean touched the angel burn on his shoulder, thumbing the scarred tissue in thought.
“You should call him,” Sam said and got up. He rummaged around in his duffle and put his jacket on as a third layer of clothing. “Pray to him and talk about this. And while you’re at it, find a way to stop the apocalypse as well.”
Dean watched his brother leave the motel room and hoarsely croaked: “Cas? You got
your ears on?” into the emptiness.
Dean paced the motel room with bated breath, wondering if Cas would show and if he did, what on earth he was gonna say to him. ‘Hello, Angel of the Lord, I think I love you. You do too?’, didn’t seem like the smoothest way to go about this.
And what was he thinking about anyway? The world was ending. This wasn’t the right time to make gooey eyes whenever the angel fluttered in and stared at him with those intense eyes of his.
Completely inappropriate to want to rip the trenchcoat of his shoulders and check if angels were really junkless down there, Dean reprimanded himself mentally. Just because his own junk always reacted very pleased whenever he sweetened his morning shower wank off with thoughts of blue eyes and tousled dark hair, didn’t mean that Cas would be up to fulfil any of his fantasies or anything.
Dean raked his fingers through his hair on his 15th lapse across the room, already thinking that Cas wouldn’t even show, when he turned around, coming face to face with someone who said: “Hello, Dean.”
Dean jumped as always. Partly from fright, partly because of the things he had been thinking about just now.
“Dude, make a noise!”
“I just did,” Cas deadpanned, not understanding Dean’s issue.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that, then!”
“I don’t understand. You called, didn’t you? You were expecting me?”
“Yeah, sure.” Dean was exasperated. “But it would be nice of you to announce your presence in any way.” He emphasised the words ‘nice’ and ‘announce’ in an attempt to copy Cas’ gravitating manner of speech so that he would understand him.
“I will try to amend my behaviour in the future,” Cas nodded and immediately he began staring at Dean with that intense gaze of his again.
Then he sighed as if he was in a rush: “Why did you call me?”
Here it comes, Dean thought and suddenly his tongue felt like it was made of lead. He stared at Cas, sometimes opening his mouth as if to start speaking but only drawing in a breath whenever he lost his nerve.
“Are you alright?” Cas asked with concern denting his brows.
Dean nodded. Cause he was alright, Cas was here after all, he was just chronically inept at getting this out.
“Cas,” he croaked at long last. “Sam thinks you held me tight when you got me out of hell.”