Bring It On Home- A Destiel AU [COMPLETED]

Chapter 7

Sometime around ten o'clock, Dean woke Castiel up. "I'm heading to bed," he told him, "and if you're digging the couch, that's fine, but... there's a spare room upstairs, if you want an actual bed to sleep on."

Castiel nodded groggily and followed Dean upstairs.

"Here you go." Dean flicked on the lights and gestured to the bed, which he'd made up some weeks ago. "I'm right across the hall, if you need anything."

.....

Two hours later, Dean was still lying in his bed wide awake. No matter which way he turned, he couldn't get comfortable; he rolled and tossed and thumped around and folded his pillow aggressively but nothing was exactly right.

Maybe he should check on Cas. Make sure he hadn't climbed out the window or something like that.

He laid flat on his back and stared at the ceiling, willing his body to relax. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in...

Aaaand nope. Nope, it wasn't happening. Dean finally gave up, climbed out bed, threw on his robe, walked across the hall, and very gingerly opened the door to the spare room.

Castiel wasn't in bed. He was perched in the window seat, staring out into the night beyond, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. The snow was falling thick and fast outside the window, and the blanketed white ground reflected the streetlights and filled the room with an unnatural orange glow.

"I guess you got enough sleep this afternoon," Dean said.

Cas nodded, still looking out the window. "I'm feeling better now."

Dean hesitated, and then stepped forward, resting a hand on the bedpost. "Do you... want to talk about it?"

Cas turned his face, the light capturing his profile. "This room is for Sam, isn't it?"

Dean chuckled wryly and scratched his forehead. "Well, I'm hoping so. We'll see how he likes it."

"And he's the real reason you moved, not your job," Castiel said, his voice gravelly and low. "You wanted to give him a fresh start."

Dean rubbed the round top of the bedpost and looked down at it and didn't answer. It hadn't really been a question, anyway.

"The problem of evil..." Cas let out a sigh. "We addicts are fond of it. If God created everything, then God created crystal meth. And if God created crystal meth..." He chuckled bitterly. "Then God wants me to smoke it. Or maybe there is no God, and then it doesn't matter what the fuck I do." He picked at his fingernails. "But it's strange, Dean. I still believe in God. I've just lost all respect for him." He grinned, a sharp and cutting smile. "He's a deadbeat dad. 'Our Father, who art behind on thy child support...'"

Dean walked closer, stopping just a few inches away. "What happened, Cas?" he asked.

Cas turned his face up to Dean, and the orange light hit it just so that half was illuminated and half remained in shadow, and for a moment the way his eyes shone in the darkness, Dean could feel, he could physically feel that Cas wanted to say, he wanted to tell him everything, that he would tell Dean anything and everything he ever wanted to know, and Dean didn't even dare breathe because he could feel them teetering on the precipice of some great dark chasm and they were about to tumble together into the abyss.

But then Cas looked away, and closed his eyes.

Dean wanted to say I'm sorry, you don't have to talk, I understand but he didn't. Instead he just reached out and put his hand on Cas's shoulder.

Cas's adam's apple bobbed, and he slid his hand up and took Dean's hand from his shoulder, clasped it between his two hands and rested them on his knees.

Which, okay, was a little more than Dean was prepared for, but he tried not to freak and went with it.

Then Cas mumbled something to himself.

"What was that?" Dean asked.

Cas cleared his throat. "You and I are very similar."

Dean chuckled. "Right."

Cas rubbed his thumb along the inside of Dean's palm. "We're the same bug. But you're larva, and I'm in the cocoon."

"Any time you wanna start making sense," Dean said, "go right ahead."

"Obedient sons. Strict fathers. Doing what was expected, what was asked of them." Cas peered closely at Dean's fingers. "You never wanted to go into advertising, Dean. It just never occurred to you to do anything else."

Dean felt a strange twisting in his chest. "That's how it was for you?"

Castiel nodded. "I was raised into it, and I thought I was called. Not because of a great spiritual stirring, but because I felt no desire towards women." He laughed softly. "I was very sheltered." He turned Dean's hand over and interlaced their fingers. "The difference between you and me is that you're still obedient, whereas I am now batshit crazy."

Dean smiled. "Naw, I wouldn't say that. Weird as fuck, sure, but you're not crazy."

Castiel smiled slowly, the smile becoming a wide grin, and he released Dean's hand. "You think I'm not crazy?"

"Nope." Dean shook his head. "Your eggs are scrambled but you still got a full carton."

Cas stood up, and that's when Dean saw the gleam in his eye, the firm set to his jaw. "I can prove it."

"Hey, hey, no jumping out of windows," Dean warned. "That's stupid, not crazy. And while we're discussing it, how about nothing involving property damage at all, because the last thing I need -"

And that's when Cas grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him.

Dean froze.

Dean closed his eyes.

Dean kissed back.

And then suddenly Cas pulled back and smiled cheerily and said, "Goodnight, Dean," and walked out of the room, down the hall, out the front door and back to his own house.

Dean stood there for a long time.