log: dean+cas WHO: Dean Winchester and Castiel WHEN: After Dean is cured of being a demon and everything dies down, and Dean goes back to his room WHERE: Dean and Cas's room! WHAT: Castiel and Dean finally talk alone after Dean's cure, and though Dean is better Cas isn't sure if he should stay with him while the Mark's corruption is still there. WARNINGS: CW for reference to demon!Dean's emotional abuse.
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Castiel knew it hadn't been him. He knew that. Everything he'd endured, everything Dean had said to him, he knew that Dean wasn't truly responsible. He didn't really mean it. He could forgive him easily and just be thankful, grateful, that Dean was human again.
He was human, but he wasn't well. Dean still bore the Mark of Cain, and that meant they weren't yet out of the woods. Once again, they had to endure Dean slowly turning to madness, to violence. They'd dealt with this at home. Cas had memories of Dean as the Mark corrupted and turned him, of Dean turning on him and nearly killing him.
He couldn't fully relax, not even now. Not even as the cure neared its end and Dean sobbed into his shirt, clutching at him desperately and weeping openly as his soul was purified.
Not even later, when Cas had his arm around Dean to support him on the way back, holding onto him without a word. Not even now, after everything had quieted down, after Sam was gone, and they were left alone in their room.
Castiel hadn't said a word since Dean became human again, and one Dean was settled on the bed, Cas stood and quietly took off his coat, hanging it up.
The cure always left Dean feeling as if he'd been burned from the inside out, and it was depressing to think that he'd experienced it enough time to even be able to use the word "always". Turning hurt. Turning back hurt. Sam's blood in his veins felt like they'd shot him up with alcohol or gasoline, and he'd spent the hour between shots feeling like he'd swallowed a match. He lashed out from pain as much as frustration and fear. He was acclimated by the time it was over, but it was less painless and more like an ache he'd decided wasn't worth reacting to. Now he just felt like the inside of him was a healing wound, veins stripped raw and organs bruised.
He was just energetic enough to ditch his boots and his flannel shirt before falling into bed. Taking off the rest didn't seem worth it. Before he'd died in August, Dean had gotten used to actually wearing pajamas instead of falling asleep in his clothes; after that he hadn't actually needed to sleep, though he'd nap sometimes just to kill an hour.
Cas turned to watch him in silence, relieved but wary. Dean was himself, it seemed, but he didn't know whether to trust it. He couldn't really calm down yet, and he was waiting for things to get bad again, waiting for Dean to use him again.
It felt different, now, than it had before.
Everything was different now, with their friendship defined in a different way. They were something other than friends now, something different, and it changed the way Cas viewed all of this, the way it twisted in his gut when he looked at Dean and saw someone he wasn't sure he could trust.
"You need to sleep," he said unnecessarily.
"Yeah." Dean's eyes were burning with exhaustion, but the thought of closing them was almost worse. He'd always slept like shit, but the nightmares from the Mark only got worse just after the cure. "But you don't, do you? Now that you're powered up again?"
"I don't," said Cas. It was true, he didn't need to sleep, but it felt wrong. He'd gotten used to sleeping, to curling up with Dean in bed or simply sprawling out beside him and enduring it when Dean took up most of the space throughout the night. Not sleeping felt wrong now, not because of the habit he'd gotten into but because something in his grace made him feel strung out, rubbed raw, as if he was human and staying up past capacity.
—Perhaps that was the strain, the stress, and nothing to do with his tampered grace at all.
Dean wouldn't look at him. Call it shame or just being tired, but it was easier to look at the wall.
"You don't have to stay here," he said, his voice low and heavy. "After everything. Or I can find somewhere else."
"You weren't yourself, Dean," said Cas firmly. He loosened his tie and moved to set it aside. He didn't always wear his coat and tie, and when he was working he opted for worn t-shirts and jeans, but he was most comfortable in the clothes that had become his trademark. "There's nothing for you to apologize for."
That didn't change the fact that he wanted an apology.
It didn't change the fact that Dean had been cruel, that Cas had endured weeks of this and had it wear him down. It was easy to say that Dean was a demon and had no responsibility to be good to Castiel, and it was true — and Cas didn't expect anything out of him. It just didn't change the fact that he was still hurting.
"Cas." With a groan, Dean pushed himself to sit up, bracing his weight on his hand. "Being a demon, it's still my soul. My brain. And I've still got the Mark. You don't have to keep doing this… whatever this is between us. You and Sammy pulled through for me, but it's over now. Sam's stuck with me, but you don't have to be. You deserve better."
"'Deserve'? I'm not leaving you when you still need me," said Castiel with a frown. "Circumstances have always kept us apart. I've always had other things keeping me away from you, but I've always come back. I've always helped you." The idea of taking some space didn't even occur to him, but perhaps it should have. "You weren't yourself. You were a demon. You have the Mark. I know it's not you. I know that's not …"
He trailed off, uncertain. Was Dean right? It was his soul, his brain. The things he did, the things he said, they came from somewhere.
"You don't have to keep helping me," Dean said a little more firmly. "You don't have to hang around things that are hurting you, Cas. This ain't home. You got nothing to make up for here, and you already did too much for me. You…"
He trailed off, running his hand down his face. He was so tired it was in his bones, and even after being cleansed as thoroughly as anyone could manage, he still felt dirty. "You mean… something different to me than you used to. It scares the shit out of me, but what scares me more is that I might just keep hurting you 'cause I'm just that person."
"You're not. Those things you said to me, you wouldn't have said. What you did …" Castiel sighed. There was an incredible, obvious weight on his shoulders, and he looked all the worse for wear. "Don't blame yourself. But I don't think I can stay here anymore."
It was hesitant, the sort of thing he didn't want to say. He'd thought about this, about taking Dean back with open arms and holding him close and not caring about anything that happened between them. That was always how it happened. But this time, things were different. They were different. Dean got to him in a far more vulnerable place.
He'd never been with Dean in times like this, never went through daily life with him, never spent nights in bed with him. He just couldn't.
Dean had been expecting that, but it didn't hurt any less. Numb, he nodded and looked away, glancing over the floor. "Yeah. Okay." He sighed, and then, "You shouldn't have to be the one who leaves. I can go. I can crash in the hospital anyway, let them keep an eye on me for now."
"Stop," said Castiel. He moved in toward Dean, finally, and touched his face before leaning down to kiss his forehead. "This is your bed. You need it right now. You need to fight the Mark, until we find way to rid you of it without unleashing evil on the world. I need you to stay yourself. I need you to stay strong. And I need you to come home and sleep in your own bed. That matters to you. You think I don't know that, but I do."
"And it doesn't matter to you? Every time shit goes down with me, you end up having to leave because I couldn't keep it together. I'm not driving you out because I have issues." Dean stubbornly pushed himself up to stand. He didn't go in for a kiss, but he braced his hand against Cas's neck and briefly let their foreheads touch, masculine and quietly affectionate. "I'll be fine, but I'm the problem here, not you."
"You need your brother," Cas insisted. Dean didn't need him, he needed Sam. That was true, but Cas wasn't placing a lot of importance on his own relationship with Dean — because he'd taken Dean's words to heart and he couldn't shake it. He wanted to. He wanted to think that it was all meaningless, he wanted to think that Dean having sex with Crowley was meaningless. "And I… need to figure out what to do about my grace."
He hadn't explained anything about his grace to Dean.
Dean frowned and leaned back enough to look Cas head-on. "What's wrong with your grace?"
Castiel didn't want to admit to it. He didn't want to admit that he'd made a mistake, that he'd thought he had the upper hand and Crowley got back at him. He was known for making colossal errors in judgment, and he was tired of feeling like an idiot. He was tired of feeling like he was no use to anyone.
First, he'd been of no use because he was human. Then, this.
"Crowley tampered with the grace that he gave me," he said quietly. "It fits me, it's not killing me, but it's damaged. I can't harm demons. I can barely think about harming demons. And if I try to remove it, it's going to kill me."
"What? Mother---" Dean turned away. Had he been more awake, he probably would have thrown something. "Son of a bitch. As soon as this Mark bullshit is taken care of, we're making Crowley fix this. Get him to take it out or un-curse it or something."
"I don't know what he can do," Cas said quietly. He was clearly humiliated by this mistake in judgment. He'd thought that Crowley was going to play fair, which was phenomenally stupid. All he wanted to do was smite Crowley for what he'd done with Dean and now he could barely even think of it without feeling his grace start to turn on him. "I don't know what he's …"
He sighed, irritated, and looked away. "I need space."
"He fucked it up, he can fix it," Dean insisted. It was easier to care about Cas than himself, especially right now. "And if he can't, or won't, we'll find a way around it. We know people with magic, there has to be someone who can get to your grace and fix it or take it out without killing you---"
"Dean. I don't want to risk it right now." It wasn't that Cas wanted to be carting around grace like this, but he was genuinely afraid of what would happen if he tried to mess with it. Crowley was smarter and more cruel than anyone really gave him credit for anymore.
"Maybe not right this second, but---"
"I know," Cas said, touching Dean's cheek. "I know. But I no longer have three demons to contend with, so it doesn't matter."
"Yeah, it matters." Dean gripped Cas's shirt, though whether it was out of affection or a need to steady himself was up in the air. "It fucking matters, it's in you. I'm not letting you go through all this shit with my soul and not help you fix yours."
Castiel looked defeated, bowing his head. All of this had been wearing him down so much. "I want it gone," he admitted quietly. "I was happy with you. I was happy without my grace. I wanted it back because I was afraid. I thought I'd feel like myself … but I don't."
"What's that saying, you can't go home again?" Dean ran his hand over Cas's hair and protectively pulled him in, resting against him. "We'll fix it. And we'll fix me. Then we can just…" He sighed. "We were doing real good for a while. We can manage that again, probably."
Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, his hands fisting in his shirt and tugging hard at the fabric. He buried his face against Dean's shoulder and just breathed in the scent of him, finally without the stench of brimstone. He'd missed him. He'd missed feeling valued.
"I'm glad you're human," he said, as if he had to state it. He was still afraid about the Mark, but Dean was human and alive, and that mattered, too.
Dean let his head fall into Cas's shoulder, mouth pressed against his shirt when he muttered, "So am I." He had been scared of his own humanity as a demon -- and even as a human, when he could feel himself slipping because of the Mark -- but now fresh and new, it was different. He almost felt like himself.
"I'm sorry for all the shit I said during the cure. I… ---I meant it, at the time, but it was just…"
Cas tensed, even in Dean's embrace. His muscles tightened, and something in the hug felt stiff and still. "You did mean it."
"I was a demon. I meant a lot of horrible shit."
"Do you mean it now?" It said a lot to how shaken and uncertain Cas was if he was asking that.
"No. No no no. Cas." Dean leaned back again, taking Cas's face in his hands. "You're my family. You come before anyone else but Sam, and you're my…" His expression was full of intent that he wasn't ready to put into words. "You're mine. And that goes both ways."
Cas needed to hear it. He needed to know that Dean wanted him here. Demon or not, Dean's words cut him in a way he never expected. Their relationship wasn't the same as it had been. Being together, living together, it changed everything.
"It's been a rough month," he admitted quietly.
"Yeah. Yeah, it has." Dean still hadn't let go, gently rubbing his thumb over Cas's cheek. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too." Cas held on a little tighter, pulled him in a little closer. For all he said he needed space, he needed this, too.