Chapter Text
Scowling, Dean Winchester paced around Rufus’ old cabin in Whitefish, Montana. Sam was who-knows-where, finding a safe place to stash Linda Tran while her son, the prophet, tried to translate the remaining half of the demon tablet. He let out a deep breath and sat down heavily on the ratty leather couch. Resting his head against the back, he allowed some of the tension in his body to dissipate. His brother would make sure the prophet’s mom got where she needed to be in one piece. And Garth, goofy as the dude may be, is a damn good hunter and would look after Kevin while he did the whole “prophet thing”.
Dean scrubbed his unshaven face with his hand and stood back up to resume his pacing. He, on the other hand, couldn’t be trusted with a simple thing like keeping family safe.
No, keeping the people he loved safe.
And that was exactly why he made up some BS about a possible haunting not too far from Whitefish. Told Sam he saw an article online and he’d head out here in the Impala to check it out. That he’d catch up with Sam later, after he dropped off Mrs. Tran. Dean sighed and strode over to the fridge for a beer.
It never did sit right with him--lying to his brother about this or that--but he needed to clear his head. After Cas dropped the bomb that he didn’t escape from Purgatory with him because he didn’t deserve to be free, Dean didn’t know what to think.
No. That’s not entirely true. Dean knew what it was to feel he didn’t deserve to be saved. In fact, the angel had called him out on it within five minutes of meeting him.
Deciding a beer wasn’t going to cut it tonight, he replaced the El Sol bottle and reached across the counter for the whiskey. After he poured himself two fingers he sat at the kitchen table to do what he’d been working up to for the last hour or so. Dean downed the burning liquid in one gulp and slammed the glass, the muscles in his jaw twitching over clenched teeth.
“Well, it’s now or never.” Folding his hands in front of him, Dean prayed. “Hey Cas, I dunno if you’re still runnin’ low on mojo, and if you can even hear me, but I’m at the cabin in Montana. Think you could zap yourself over here? There’s something I gotta talk with you about.” He paused and looked around the room, but it was empty. No sign the trench coat-wearing angel heard him, or was even listening. Pressing his eyes shut, he gave it another go. “C’mon, man. You out there? Cas?” His stomach did a little flip in anticipation and he opened his eyes. Guess this is what they mean by butterflies...
But there was no one there.
Dean lowered his head and gave an imperceptible nod. It would figure, wouldn’t it? He was ready as he’d ever be to put himself out there, to tell Cas that losing him in Purgatory had pretty much broken him. That he never stopped blaming himself for losing the only person he ever truly... He snatched up the empty tumbler and stalked toward the sink. “Damn it, Cas!” The glass shattered loudly against the metal basin.
Absentmindedly focusing on the shards now strewn about, a faint woosh sounded behind him. Before he could turn around, the familiar gruff voice uttered his name.
“Dean.” The angel wavered on his feet and nearly toppled over.
“Cas!” Dean caught him, circling his arms around his waist under his coat. “Woah. Take it easy, man.”
Now steadied, Cas took a step back as if correcting himself. “Personal space. My apologies.”
Dean laughed under his breath. “Right. Personal space.” He fixed Cas’ lapel and gave him a gentle pat before squeezing his shoulders. He slid his hands down a bit and held his upper arms firmly yet softly, afraid the angel would disappear as quickly as he appeared. “Are you alright? What happened?”