but i'm singing like a bird about it now [ch: three]

Cas is often left to his thoughts when he is in the Impala with Dean. But Baby is not herself—itself—a "gag order," it's more so that Dean often is parsing through his feelings and Cas is happy to allow him that space. Eons of his existence gives him some of the patience Dean requires, to learn his worry. The bulk of it, the part that matters. But right now Cas’ anxiety and impatience are fuel. He's banking on the chunk he never has had the patience for: Dean’s untimely curiosity. Because he can't be happy right now. At least not until they know The Empty deal is still on or if it was nullified by Its recent attempt to take him back to The Shadows. Cas isn't sure if there are any texts or tablets on the subject.

If Uriel had been alive, they may have been aware of one. Uriel was also the wiser of them, always had more knowledge of what we assumed was unknown. Or Maybe Anna would know. Maybe...any of them. Cas vacillates between contentment to be alive and with Dean somehow in some capacity that is...blooming somehow...to carefully maintained misery and nervousness. To be so close to something you might actually get to have is its own type of dread—it has its own level of trepidation. An emotion born in tandem with others is...sophisticated. It's a complex level of stress that Cas didn't realize he was skilled at: this type of emotional dance and calibration—until being under Ishim. But Cas does it, this is his way as his garrison's last standing angel. He has it, he'll use it.

So that's how he ends up accidentally working himself into a full-blown anxiety attack. He has turned back into the quickest trembling radiator he's ever so much as gazed at in America. Jack is somewhere with Sam. Chuck on the loose in the only universe in any of the galaxies Cas knows of. And Dean, bless him, has dropped all his usual stoic disposition on the side of the road to simply worry at him, caught between actually touching his face and just talking him through it in a way that keeps Cas' happiness at bay. If Cas could laugh right now, it would be with a heart that hurt. He never wanted Dean to look at him so helplessly, even if it meant he took off that careful mask he always wore.

“What mask?” Dean masks. Though, his eyes still look frantic, almost like The Empty has materialized. So much so that Cas instinctively looks around and out of the window only to find nothing. Dean stares at him with confusion laced into the look on his face.

“Cas, you said it. What mask?” Cas had spoken aloud, for, oh no, how long?

“Sorry, I don’t know,” Cas manages. Dean’s not buying it.

“Tell me, maybe it’ll calm you down or stop this, uhm, what this is.” Dean’s obstinance is working to his advantage right now and Cas doesn’t enjoy it at all; he rolls his eyes but the thought of being in control of his words helps. Cas will actually be the narration filter instead of whatever just happened. He begins:

“You have always made sure to keep your expressions in check, almost careful. I used to assume it was to hide away your disdain for me. Or something that Sam said. I realize you keep it on for other people but you also keep it on for yourself...to keep yourself safe from having to name the emotions there if someone were to look...to...see.” Dean’s face softens to something else.

“You pay so much damn attention to me. I’m sorry I didn’t show you how I felt sooner.” It seems he says this mostly to himself. When his attention is back on Cas, his face is less schooled but has an apparent irritation. “Tell me something else, anything else.”

“Talking about your feelings doesn’t make you happy, so after a while it stopped making me happy. So I figured it might work to just talk, but now that I’m talking...I...I don’t know what to talk about.”

“Wait…,” Dean shakes his head slightly and then nods. He stills and then he throws his hand to his chest and does a body check. “That...I did that...this is my fault. I...Cas I am so sorry I fucked up I—” This is not what Cas had expected his anxiety-addled brain to do to Dean. Now they’re both a mess. Dean is all but wheezing the rest.

“I...We…could have been...I was always so wrapped up. So...I shut myself off and it basically taught you that I couldn't handle it and I'm sorry. And...I was always feeling, Cas; I want you to know that. That was the problem, not you, never you, but I’m so sorry if I took this from you it’s my fault and now it doesn't even make you happy and I’m so so sorry…,” his face scrunches “and now I'm making it about me,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry that you deserve better.” He recoils at his words. “That sounds even worse out loud. Cas…,” Dean visibly struggles, looking all but choked for words.

Cas tilts his head slower than he usually does but manages his breathing. He’s not at all upset Dean’s emotions made room for Cas to sort what he was feeling and put it aside to get out of his anxiety attack. But Dean…it’s clear that Dean is pained by taking up space in this moment. But it’s almost how it’s always been, albeit less deliberate maybe. At least according to Dean, Cas resolves. Cas isn’t sure what actually has Dean so upset. Is it that Dean’s sudden outward self-awareness surprises himself? Cas has never been so aware of just how much time he spent waiting to understand the green eyed man; so long, all of the time. So he now has only questions.

“Do you...You think you groomed me?”

Dean seems to have something going on in his head and then is immediately stricken. He slumps forward slowly and asks, “Is...Cas...please…is that what this was, what we were? Can I fix it? Am I worth that? No, don’t answer that. If I hurt you, I have to fix it if—I want to.”

“What the fuck?” It’s all Cas can manage to say before his jaw locks into pace. Dean seems to sputter at Cas’ words in a very subtle way that matches what his face is doing but then slowly recoils like Cas had raised more than his voice. Cas tries to soothe him: “Sorry. I just don’t understand.”

“Don’t do that,” Dean requests, he sounds...small. “Please, you never have to apologize ever again.” He looks forlorn.

“Dean, what…what do you mean why—”

“Cas, I had you walking on eggshells all this time because my head was in the sand and I hurt you all of the time in the process. I see that now. So maybe I need you to either do it back or wait till I fix me so I can be something to be with.”

“No, Dean, now what the fuck."

I…can keep us unhappy if we fight. This isn’t exactly healthy but if I get out of the deal, we can fix this. He has to know something though, to comfort him; so I’ll blanket this and he can sort through it later. Cas straightens his back and announces:

“Your life means something to the world because of Chuck. Your life meant the world to me for moments of my eons. Your life is just important, Dean—you’re an archangelic vessel. I may not be able to defeat Chuck,” He scowls. “But don’t think for a moment I couldn’t ever have actually defended myself. Physically or emotionally. And been thoroughly victorious.” Dean blanches. “My true form towers over most of your world’s greatest architectural feats. And my true wings and true eyes have colors your brain could never identify. I am More than you.”

Dean all but folds on himself but whispers,“So why didn’t you...back at the bunker. Why...How did I get you to just love me when you could hurt me?” Cas wasn’t expecting that. He turns from Dean’s face, which was full of a desperation, a plea Cas couldn’t currently answer or tend to—and says simply, honest, completely:

“I don’t know. But I didn’t want that to matter after what you asked me. I just wanted our last moments to be together and for it to feel like the love I didn't realize you had for me. So the kiss happened. I...did...allow it...to some degree because I chose not to throw you into the wall or shelving. And...I liked it on a level. If that is what this is about. Is that it?” He hedges, hoping to stay on course with where he needs his emotions to be. Cas was sure as the Angel of Thursday he carried human Virgo qualities. He remembers when pre-biblical diviners would use the planets and stars as guides and use their rotations to best facilitate their human needs. Cas bitterly remembers how celestial meaning became commercialized, exploited, and lost. Either way, today Cas was going to stick to his goal and make this conversation work out for himself in true Virgo fashion. He was going to stay strategic in these emotional layers now that he wasn’t panicking.

Dean takes a breath, Cas can tell from the way Dean’s face changes it’s one of the moments he takes when he is choosing to have an incredibly complex thought on purpose. The way Dean alchemizes his heart and his repressed emotions and experiences is actually considered divine in Cas’ vast mind. Cas senses it is probably a lot of emotional work that Dean wasn’t allowed to have the muscle for despite how big his heart is. Cas imagines it would be easier for Dean if only Dean’s emotional needs were involved but they are now in a balancing act of Cas’ happiness.

“I needed you—to know...Cas...I couldn't say it in time. I was always awfully slow. But...then knowing how I felt made you less happy. That's doing a number on me right now already and..w—” Dean had looked up as he spoke and read something on Cas’ face and Dean’s own face smoothes. He nods to himself, convicted. “So we'll just keep you less happy until we don’t have to. And I'll let you know. Again. And better. How’s that?” He says the last question as if they weren’t already alone on the long stretch of road. Cas wonders if he was the only one always paying too much attention. But he’s satisfied that Dean knows what he’s asked and what he’s asking for...knowing Dean would make good on his offer was a plus.

“That’s it. Thank you, Dean.”

“That...did what it needed to?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Can..is it okay to need you...right now?”

Cas looks away. Dean extends a hand and tugs at his trenchcoat sleeve and seems to speak to it instead of Cas.

“Cas...I don’t want to need you if it hurts or makes you leave me...I just...I don’t want to risk it so just tell me. Please.”

Cas lets that hurt the way it needs to and turns back around and looks at Dean, whose face looks both hurt and hopeful. Cas gives him the smallest smile he can manage and slowly leans forward until he’s speaking into Dean’s lips so Dean knows that it’s not about proximity but about the choice.

“You’re the one who hasn’t been able to handle me being too close to you, Dean. Always know that I have what you need. That’s...not what affects me.” Cas thinks back on when he used to follow the handprint on Dean’s shoulder which held remnants of his grace. While the Enochian on Dean’s ribs was a deterrent, Cas’ branding was not; he followed it like a north star, opposed to the limits of Dean’s body and often would appear inches from him. Never really hating how intoxicating it felt. He eventually learned to give him room for greetings.

Dean’s eyes flit to Cas’ lips, seemingly afraid to actually look up, so Cas helps him by lifting his chin. Dean revels in the contact and swallows hard before looking directly at Cas, eyes searching as he asks his next question. “So you’re telling me...I could have touched you all this time? And you barely would have noticed?”

Cas squints. “Dean, I would have noticed. Obviously. It just wasn’t something I would have offered if I didn’t think you desired it. I’ve...always cut through my desires for you.”

“But, Cas, I want you. And I don’t want you to do that. So I don’t get what you’re saying. Do you not want me back because of The Empty? Can you not want me that way? Will you...ever...after the Empty?”

Cas doesn’t know how to answer all of those in this moment so he stays with something simple.

“I don’t have to, you’re enough as I have you now, Dean. If you’ll only have me this way I’ll take th—”

“Cas, what if I want to give you more?” Dean cuts through his diplomacy. “Just tell me. Can I...I don’t want a repeat of...before...where you don’t...like it. So just...tell me. If it’s always gonna hurt or feel weird I’ll...we can have just this. I can do with just holding your hand, man. I’ll take that.”

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Dean feels like he’s in a standoff in a saloon but the bullets are words packed with feeling-blood, and he has to watch the splatter. But Cas is handing him flowers tied to timebombs at the same time. He’s making promises we don't know if we can keep. And making the idea of touching him a question I don’t know how to ask or answer. This is awful. But Dean figured out a few minutes ago that this was the point of this. All he could do was be here in these moments, for however long they have to have them, until they don’t have to have them anymore. This was...devotion. This was worse than the Rack. He knew his body would eventually reset on the Rack. He doesn’t know the mechanics and moving parts of his feelings. How many words between them that take so much work mean...basically nothing? For Dean, they’re all packed up in a vault somewhere getting rearranged to get to other things faster, like anger. Walking through it was probably like walking through a hoarder’s nest. A fire hazard packed floor to ceiling. Maybe he could do with vacating the place. But now he’s aware of another and the other is a willing target. That’s…bad.

“I gotta look up with this even is. And if it’s more not normal than how it’s already not not normal.” Dean hangs his head in shame when he realizes he had said this aloud. This isn’t getting him off but it’s keeping him full. And he’s not sure why, usually when he wants someone, he wants more. Why does this feel like enough?

“OK, Cas.” He pats his shoulder once and feels himself bristle, he turns back to Baby’s wheel with his back a bit straighter. 

“Okay.” Cas whispers. 

“I gotta say, man.” Dean says as he tries to turn Baby back on and succeeds. But then his chest tightens. If he doesn’t let this spill out, his lungs might give out. So he takes a breath and turns her back off. “It’s bad enough knowing you know that I’ve been dragging my...emotions...about you through the gutter all this time. But it’s worse knowing I’ve gotta do it on purpose and drag you along with me.” He doesn’t look at Cas, he can’t. But he hears Cas sigh. 

“I didn’t know that entirely. But we...can consider all of this a bit of bruising. Nothing will break between us, or at least on my end. I can assure you that. Much of what we will say will probably be long overdue. Consider it taking weapons inventory, without you shooting me.” Dean absentmindedly touches his shoulder where Cas had gripped him earlier and even longer before that. He agrees with his whole body as he feels the dull ache. There’s a lot he wants to say to Cas. A lot he can’t say. A lot he’ll try to say anyway. 

“Yea...yea, okay, Cas. Okay. Well, for now, it’s time to roll.” He turns Baby back on and welcomes her growl and healthy-engine purr of a start. He keeps his eyes mostly on the road as he calls Sam and figures out exactly where they’re both at and where they’re headed. It’s a sore silence between the pair for nearly an hour. 

Until Dean gets antsy and curious again. He looks over at Cas, his eyes closed as if he’s sleeping. It’s the most serene thing Dean has ever witnessed. He wonders if this is what mediation looks and feels like. He can’t imagine that Cas actually sleeps but maybe after this experience he’s at least trying to rest and re-up or something. Dean wonders if he should just keep it clammed up but then he remembers what they’re investing in by doing this. Them. Together. They’re doing this together. Maybe there’s no label on the can of whatever this bond between them is but all that’s important is that the can is theirs. They both own the can, so it doesn't really matter. So he asks:

“So Cas…”

“Mhhm,” Cas grunts. Dean smiles only to himself. 

“Why did you say you know you can’t have me...not knew.”

“Are we deciding to argue about verb’s tenses or is this something you really want to know? We can put your GED to work if you’d like but I don’t know how that gets us to Sam and Jack any faster.”

Dean decides he likes it when his angel gets a little spicy. And laughs out loud. Cas lip twitches up at hearing it and opens his eyes to look at him. Dean never knew seeing Cas smile would make him panic but he knows he has to stop immediately. 

“Sorry, man.” 

“It’s okay, I love the sound, don’t get me wrong, but it won’t make me disappear. Not anymore.”

“Wait, you're saying that at some point it would have.”

“Before today, absolutely. We’ve had a hard few years, Dean.”

Dean’s heart swells and aches when he hears Cas say “we” this time around. He barrels on. 

“Well so then why know and not knew...which is not know.” Dean is thankful that when he chances a glance at Cas, the angel isn’t looking at him like he’s the dullest tool in the shed. Cas seems to be considering how much this might sting. 

“As I said earlier, Dean, I didn’t think it was something to offer you. But...that doesn’t mean I didn’t think I could have asked it of you. I—like I mentioned, I saw your soul. It was clear what you could give but that asking...probably wouldn’t have been...uhmm, exactly ideal. You have...the libido and preference. But not the...uhm, internal permission.” Cas’ eyes immediately find anywhere else to be.

Dean’s skin is absolutely on fire. The only reason he didn’t cut Cas off is because he was already biting hard down on his cheek. 

“You can...feel that...on my soul, Cas? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I can feel it on all humans, Dean. Human sexuality is divine so yes, I can sense it. On everyone.” Cas starts to fiddle with his jacket. To Dean this seems not all that unnatural, he doesn’t look like a kid playing with a toy. He’s just...passing the time. Dean had thought about this, this seemingly unspoken but loud part of him that does prefer Cas as he is and not...another vessel. Maybe one that looks like Anna or Rachel but...he likes Cas as-is. 

“So you can tell I like you in this model and not another? That it?”

Cas pauses for a moment, head tilted, “Dean, are you comparing my vessel to a car?”

Dean smirks, “Hey man, I do like the model. I just don’t want that gettin' lost.” Cas likes when he jokes, right? Maybe that’ll offset some bruising. Dean touches his shoulder again. This time, Cas catches Dean and stretches his fingers over Dean’s on the wheel. It helps Dean continue:

“I...I just want to show you how important you are to me, man.”

“Dean, you—you already do that.”

“You have to know what I’m saying, Cas. Please…,” The last word comes out more like a whisper.

“I...” Cas pauses for a few beats and turns back to the window, his hand gently squeezing Dean’s hands as Dean blinks away the welling on the levee of his bottom lids. 

“Was I really that stone-cold to you?” Cas sighs softly, chuckles out an agreement. Dean barks out a chuckle himself but his head falls, defeated, towards his own window. But he lets Cas continue to make him bruise.

“Yea, well. Sorry, I guess.” He mumbles. 

“But, Dean, you have to understand that I also have...frequently had trouble feeling secure in a vessel, in this one. Not being the size of a Chrysler building is...constricting. Jimmy isn't here with me anymore. I don’t have human memory of this body but what I do have...Dean, I have endured so much. And...feel...discomfort using Jimmy’s body daily. But also never really cared much for sexual interactions regardless of that. Until...a certain day at Bobby’s...” Dean tenses, scouring his brain. “Before losing Sam...and that's only some of the time.”

Dean is at a loss, when was that? And when did I start feeling the same way? Was it before?

“You think you’ll clam up.” Dean asks in a flat tone. The mask is back on. 

“I won’t...Dean, not if it’s you. But normally, yes.” 

Dean considers this. It seems perfectly reasonable to him. He gets it: Dean’s body might always be ready to go but that’s just not the case for everybody. Hell, even he went long strings without that particular hunger. Especially when he was only ready to go at truckstops and dive bars to feed Sam. It was just motions for Dean at some point too.  

“That sounds...just fine to me, man. Seriously. Human, even.” Dean’s not sure why he added that last part. He loosens Cas’ hold on his hand over the wheel and readjusts his handle on it.  Cas lets him but drops his hand between them. Pinky drawing what Dean can only guess is Enochian symbols on to his thigh. 

“I hadn’t considered that when you would say you needed me. You may have meant—.” Dean catches his hands and brings Cas fingertips to his chest. Refusing to look at him. Trying to fight back the days of those dive bars and truck stops. 

“I didn’t. Cas. Or maybe I did and didn’t know but…Don’t do it for me. Never do it just for me. If…if we ever get there. Please promise me that, man. Seriously.” Dean refuses to look again. 

Cas drags their fingers back down to the space between them. And continues to trace against Dean’s thigh, face trained to Dean’s profile.

“Either way, Dean, you helped humanize me. Maybe some day you...can enjoy me, as you can.” 

Dean can get down with this bruising...this is like a deep tissue massage. Dean can one day let himself imagine Cas working deep into inner muscles like he never has before. Dean shakes away the thought for now. 

But then Cas does something he hasn't done in the while. He turns on the radio, eyes closed, and picks a song. It’s Dinner & Diatribe by Hozier. At least that’s what the radio host said at the end of the song the first time it played; the first time he heard it was at the diner he (and Michael in his head) and Cas went to for breakfast one early afternoon. Back then it felt taunting. Tonight…it’s saying everything neither of them can. 

That’s the kinda love I’ve been dreaming of. He’s making it sing for me. Dean thinks. And when Dean looks over and Cas is peering into his soul for a split second before withdrawing completely and going back to resting with his eyes closed against Baby’s window, lips parted slightly. An invitation to gaze. Dean’s fingers curl tightly around the wheel. The song fades out eventually, Dean’s eyes back on the road…eventually. The next song is New Soul by Yael Naim. A palate cleanser, an olive branch from his angel. She eventually sings: “Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Oh, mistake. Mistake.” Oh, that hurts but in a good way. It’s one they're making together. Dean looks over and Cas looks fast asleep. Funnily enough. Dean smiles openly knowing Cas can’t witness it. It burns his chest a little. He stops. Alright, enough bruising for today. Maybe he can deal with these promises. He doesn’t open his mouth for the rest of the ride. 

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The Empty decided it was getting involved. Just, retroactively. It all qualified as involvement. So why not further involve Itself? It was going to re-materialize Amara. Its child. Yes, the lore is inaccurate. The Empty birthed Amara in The Shadows and Chuck’s father got jealous and birthed His own son. The WayLight, Chuck’s father, was awful. Worse than Cronus/Saturn. His light was not love; it was disorienting, loud, blazing, burning, a distraction. Loud. He stole Amara from The Empty and claimed her as His own. The bastard (which was technically true).

Both The WayLight and The Empty birthed Themselves. For different reasons: The Empty wanted variety, it was bored. The WayLight wanted worshippers, it was attention-seeking. That’s why Chuck was….like that. The Empty hated it but the Empty ultimately didn’t care what comings and goings happened. It would always have The Shadows. All of the universes have different Heavens but there is only One of The Empty. Every thing, every creature funnels in here. Which meant unlike The WayLight and Chuck, The Empty was always whole and powerful. It didn’t need completion or graduation. It Was what It Was. So, theoretically, it could squash Chuck. The Empty hadn’t considered getting involved but it would make things quieter in the long run. Though it was already remarkably quiet with the influx of the other universes’ creatures that had suddenly appeared as Chuck destroyed worlds. The Empty had properly oriented them all to Not Get Loud and they’d all been a pleasant surplus ever since.  The Empty could annihilate Chuck just to keep the surplus in case the brat decided to undo it all because the Winchesters made Him sad or something. He was always so...fickle. And fixated. Maybe breaking His toys over and over again wasn’t the solution. Maybe The Empty should just take Him. But it’s Loud out there outside of The Shadows so The Empty decides to rip Her back out of Chuck. Watch him panic and blame The Winchesters, maybe take them out in the process, and then The Empty would simply tell Amara that it was time. The Leviathan get their mouths from Amara so it would be the same type of subsuming. Might even be fun to witness the WayLight be reawakened just to die because It hadn’t noticed Chuck taking all of Its power over the years but The Empty would prefer a silent victory. 

So maybe it’ll do that; the Winchesters make this “free will” stuff sound appealing compared to indifference. Maybe The Empty will make something shake on Its own. 

“Amara, love?” 

Amara materializes in the dark.

“Yes. Mother?”

“Did Chuck scream when I ripped you out?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Excellent. Well, my love: It is time. You will be tasked to be my defender.”

“Yes, Mother.”