The newly-human Cas sat sulking on the sofa, keeping a watchful eye on Dean, however his bad mood made it look more like he was glaring at the hunter. Dean frowned whenever he glanced up at Cas, unsure what he’d done to piss the ex-angel off. It wasn’t like he’d broken his arm on purpose, surely Cas knew that. It was an accident.
It was a routine haunting in North Carolina in a very old decrepit house. How was Dean to know he’d go through the stairs and land on his arm funny? The worst part was letting Sam drive them back to Sioux Falls, almost violently enforing the ‘driver picks the music’ rule; so an injured and slightly pissed off Dean had to endure two day’s worth of absolutely terrible music and his baby not being used to her full potential — “No one cares about speed limits, Sammy!”
Bobby took one look at Dean’s arm and rolled his eyes, muttering “idjit” as he motioned for them to go through to the kitchen. Castiel was sat at the table pouring through old books to help Bobby. Having lost his powers, he was pretty useless on a hunt, but could still understand every language invented, and could read almost 4 books an hour, so Bobby kept him around for research. Cas’ head snapped up when he heard three pairs of heavy footsteps coming closer, gaping when he saw Dean’s arm in a cast and sling.
The hunter smiled sheepishly as the ex-angel jumped from his chair and rushed over, taking the broken arm in his hands as gently as he could.
“No hunting for me for six weeks.”
“What did you do?!”
Dean smirked; “well-“
“-Don’t even try to spin your boyfriend some macho lies, Dean. He fell, Cas,” Sam grinned; “he fell and he landed wrong.”
Dean scowled; “I didn’t just ‘fall’, Sammy. I went through the stairs! I hardly tripped over my own feet.”
“Why weren’t you more careful!?” Cas demanded, scowling at the cast.
“This isn’t my first injury, Cas, I’ll be fine. And hey! I’ll be here for six weeks! You get me for six weeks!”
“Well ain’t that somethin’ to look forward to,” Bobby grunted, stomping over to his liquor cabinet. Dean pulled a face at the older hunter’s back, pulling Castiel in to a one-armed hug.
“Come on. I’m pooped.”
So now Dean was sat at Bobby’s desk reading some old books — “just because you’re defective don’t mean you can’t do some research,” — with Castiel watching him like a hawk from the sofa. Sam and Bobby were out on a hunt, so Dean couldn’t use them as buffers; not that he should have to, he thought. Ever since he’d come home that day, Castiel had been oddly distant, always seemingly in a bad mood, glaring at either Dean or his own hands. After fishing out a pen he’d gotten stuck in his cast trying to itch his arm, Dean slammed his fist on the table, making the ex-angel jump.
“That’s it, Cas. What have I done?”
Cas looked up at Dean confoundedly; “you’ve done nothing, Dean. What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been sat there glaring at me for hours! Days, even. What have I done to piss you off?”
“Nothing! I’m not… I’m not pissed off at you.”
Dean missed the way Cas said ‘you’; “well you’ve got your angry eyes on! Come on! What’s wrong?! What did I do?!”
Cas let out an affronted sigh; “it’s not you, Dean. It’s me.”
“Well if that ain’t cliché. What’s you?”
“And I should be able to heal you. I’m… I’m useless, Dean.”
Dean frowned; “you’re not useless, Cas.”
“I used to be so powerful, and now… All I’m good for is reading old books and helping you get dressed in the morning. If I still had my grace you wouldn’t have a broken arm.”
“And you wouldn’t be here with me. Come on, Cas. We don’t think you’re useless! You’ve just got to get used to the change; we could train you up if you want, you could come back on the road with us like old times… Don’t… Don’t sit there and think you’re not good enough. You’re plenty good… You’re too good… It’s me who-“
Dean was cut off to Cas’ arms wrapping around his head, pulling him to the ex-angel’s chest. Adjusting, Dean wrapped his good arm around Castiel’s waist, burying his face in to the Led Zeppelin shirt his boyfriend was wearing.
“Don’t you dare, Dean Winchester. You’re not to put yourself down. Ever.”
“Shut up, Cas. Of course I’m useless. I can’t even itch my arm without getting the pen stuck!”
Castiel couldn’t help but chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s head; “over six billion people owe their lives to you. I don’t think they’d mind if you were a little clumsy from time to time.”
Dean smiled; “I’ll stop being hard on myself if you stop too.”
The next day, Sam and Bobby came home earlier than expected. They dumped their bags in the hallway and went to go find Dean and Castiel, fill them in on how the hunt had gone. Making their way to the office, they stopped in their tracks. Dean and Castiel were curled up on the sofa asleep, legs entwined, Dean’s face buried in to Cas’ neck, his broken arm lying down his side. Sam grinned; Cas’ hand loosely clutched at a marker, lying next to Dean’s broken arm. All over the cast “I love you” was written in different languages. Sam was sure this was done after the hunter had fallen asleep, seeing as it would class as a chick-flick moment of epic proportions.
“Leave the princess and his angel alone, there’s a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen with my name on it,” Bobby mumbled, not taking care with how loudly he marched past the sleeping couple to the kitchen. Dean stirred, his eyes almost cracking open as he curled towards Cas, draping his cast over his lover’s waist. Sam chuckled, following Bobby in to the kitchen, making a mental note to mock Dean once he’d woken up.