A Car's Tires on a Road

But we can't run from the wind and the thunder.

I had no idea what to expect. I had no idea what shape Cas would be in. I had no idea how much he remembered. I had no idea if he'd be happy to see me, no idea if he'd called me because he'd wanted to or just because I was the only one he could call.

And then I saw him, as the Impala's tires rolled onto the parking lot, standing there outside a Gas'n'Sip, lost and alone, and my heart felt like it was about to swell beyond the capacity of my chest. I got out of the car, stood there for a moment, watching him while he was watching me, a moment that stretched out in a kind of forever.

His hair was a mess, his features drawn, he was still wearing my clothes, a dark pair of jeans and a plaid shirt and my dark green jacket. For some reason I was really nervous, freaking out, in fact, on the inside, and when I walked towards him, because he didn't move, I could barely swallow.

I stopped in front of him, took in the full extent of his disheveled appearance and the way he looked at me, and finally found the first words to say to him after everything that'd happened. "You look like roadkill."

"Yes," he answered, looked down on himself. "I'm dirty."

I gave him a lopsided smile. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. Didn't say much more.

"What happened?"

"Well," he said and fixed something somewhere behind me. "I came to in a forest a couple of miles from here. That was three or four days ago, it's hard to tell." He rubbed his eyes, unease written over his features. "When I finally made it out, I walked along the road and found this place. That was when I called you."

"I'm sorry, Cas," was all I could say. He looked like he'd been through hell, covered in dirt and sweat and a tiredness in his eyes that shouldn't be there. "So, you're mojo's not back yet?"

"Not entirely, no." His eyes dropped, then came back up to mine. "Dean. How are you?"

I smiled. It was so typical for him, to ask me if I was okay even though he was clearly worse. "I'm fine, Cas. Come on, let's get you home."

________________

A few hours later, I was back in our kitchen in front of the stove and grilled some burgers. The drive to the bunker had been filled with silences, every now and then interrupted by random comments about the landscape and the weather that, I supposed, Cas only made because he was uncomfortable with silences. It had been smalltalk at its worst, and the only thing he'd said that had been anywhere near interesting to me was that he was hungry.

Sam's and Cas' reunion had been friendlier and with way more hugging than ours, but then again, Sam wasn't conflicted inside about being in love with his best friend. Sam hadn't been kissed by Cas, or got shoulder rubs all the time without asking. Sam didn't have to stare back at Cas for endless minutes every time we both wanted to say things but neither of us dared to. Sam didn't react with unfiltered anger whenever he was feeling insecure about something Cas did. In fact, Sam never felt insecure around Cas. Sam just welcomed back a friend; I'd picked up the love of my life after having lost it for the millionth time. There's the difference, and I told myself that's all it was.

By the time the burgers in the pan were ready to be turned, I shuddered. I'd been so caught up in my own thinking and re-thinking, I hadn't even noticed someone entered the kitchen.

"Cas," I said. "I can feel your breath in my neck."

Even without looking I could tell he was cocking his head behind me. "I can't sense whether you find that good or bad," he said in a serious tone, like he was talking about something earth-shattering rather than what it actually was. "I suppose it's because of my still incapacitated powers. It's very irritating."