Mint and apricots

52. After the storm

Once both he and Cas had crossed the doorstep, Dean closed the door to the apartment he and his husband had begun paying rent for nearly three years ago and breathed a sigh so painful somebody could have said he had been holding it for days. In a way, he had.

After Sam had left the scene, Dean and Castiel had taken Gabriel back to his house. Cas hadn't felt like letting him drive in the state he was in – when he had made that remark, Dean had had to bite his tongue to refrain from asking him if he meant the aftermath of his bruised nose or of the emotional slaughter that Sam had left behind when he had taken off.

Castiel had driven Gabriel's car all the way to Salisbury Willows, with his devoted and miserable patient who looked like he had shrunk in the passenger seat, while Dean had followed them in the Impala to be able to retrieve his husband once Gabriel answered their "Goodnight" with an unconvinced nod and entered his house with his head down, almost dragging his feet. Dean didn't know what they had said to each other, but he doubted Castiel had managed to get more than a few murmurs out of Gabriel's mouth. Perhaps he had tried to comfort him with a few words suited for the occasion, even knowing that they could only be empty and meaningless for a heart that had been broken less than a quarter of an hour before. Castiel had probably reminded Gabriel that he could call him at any time.

Dean was two steps beyond the entrance to their apartment and had not yet taken off his coat, but his first thought was to bury a hand in his pocket to extract the cell phone that he had felt vibrate briefly on the way. A wave of relief that he did not know he needed overwhelmed him when he saw that the notification of a new message flashed next to his brother's Whatsapp chat.

From: Sam (01.08 a.m.)

I just need to let off steam. Don't worry about me, I'll be back home soon.

After reading those few words, Dean relaxed further. To let off steam, for Sam, had always meant getting some air, running or walking until his thoughts stopped making his temples throb or until he ran out of energy. For once, Dean was almost certain he had nothing new to worry about. It was with that belief, alien and encouraging at the same time, that he put his cell phone on the coffee table in the living room before collapsing on the sofa. He was rubbing his face with his hands, trying to dispel some of the tiredness that would have wanted him to lie down and fall asleep right there, when his husband's voice reminded him that he was not alone in the room.

"Don't you think it's time we talk about this?"

Dean emerged from the shelter of his hands and looked at Castiel, who had remained silent throughout the drive and, once back, had retired to the back of the dining room and had begun to observe the city panorama outside the window. Motionless, absorbed and with his arms crossed, almost just a distant image of himself. Or at least this was the perception that Dean had of him from the outside.

He could understand him. He hadn't started talking to him yet, not really. He had just urged him to rush into the street, that night, when Sam had texted saying that he was at the police station with Gabriel after Luc's attack.

Now, however, his husband was watching him. He was still by the window, he had just turned around, but he was staring at him with that solemn look that Dean actually knew was a spontaneous strategy Castiel used to hide all his doubts and insecurities. Castiel had always coped with difficulties with some kind of stubborn concentration painted on his face.

Feeling like the object of his relentless inquisitive activity, Dean braced himself for confrontation.

"What do you want, Cas?" he asked him in a forcibly neutral tone, so that his exhaustion did not pass for irritation.