log; dean & cas WHO: Dean & Cas WHEN: Thursday, January 28th, midday WHERE: The animal husbandry area, somewhere around the sheep WHAT: Dean hangs out and asks Cas about the situation with his grace. They talk a bit about what it means to be human, Dean gets a birthday gift, and also Dean still hates Cas's pet rabbit. Sorry, rabbit. WARNING(S): N/A
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Dean still hated animals. Like... wow, no.
Unfortunately, they didn't have any cats in Mount Weather, so Dean couldn't use the excuse that he had allergies to stay away. But he could be anywhere on a given work day and Cas usually stayed put, so it was easier for Dean to visit than the other way around. Cas had something to do with the sheep today, so Dean took a break from work and hung around nearby, playing the world's slowest game of fetch with Princess. He'd plopped the rabbit down on a table near the enclosure and rolled a ball out in front of him, settling back in his chair while Princess flubbed his way over to the toy.
Trust Cas to adopt the creepiest animal he could find around here. Dean was pretty sure that the fucked up head really liked playing fetch and the normal one was planning to go all Bunnicula on him one day, but Cas had insisted that the thing needed to be entertained and get some exercise, and Dean had a really hard time saying no when Cas had that dead serious look on his face.
"So, uh... I talked to Sam about what Crowley said." Dean glanced over into the animal enclosure, keeping his hand on the table to stop Princess from rolling the ball off the edge.
Cas took everything he did seriously. Tasks were serious. He was responsible for many of the animals here, and they needed a good life as much as any of the people. Honestly, Cas sometimes struggled with the difference between animals and people — it wasn't that he didn't understand, but when one was an angel, God's other creatures all sort of blended together after a while, no matter how extraordinary humans happened to be. They were special, but Cas was also deeply invested in the personal lives of the sheep.
It was difficult to tell whether the things Cas said about their running soap opera was true or if he was just making it up.
Cas was hard to read that way.
He glanced over, frowning. "What did Sam say to you about what Crowley said to him?"
"He said you weren't about to die, but that you'll run out of your grace and go through withdrawal. Also said you can't hurt demons anymore, ever. Sam also said he told you all this." The quiet after he finished speaking clearly said, And then you didn't tell me about it.
"Oh."
Cas went back to grooming one of the sheep without another word, running the bent wire comb through the fleece.
"Were you gonna tell me?" Princess had successfully rolled the ball back and started chewing on Dean's sleeve, prompting Dean to roll the ball again and lift the rabbit up so he could physically point him in its direction.
"What's to tell?" Cas asked. "I'm not dying. It won't kill me. This is good news, right? I just have to get someone else to kick Crowley in the balls until we can fix that part of it."
"You don't think 'hey, Dean, I'm not dying' would've been a nice thing to bring up?" Dean wondered sometimes if Cas had learned not to talk about his feelings from Dean.
Cas did learn it from Dean. He learned everything from Dean.
"That would have been important," Cas said, contemplating it. "I'm sorry." He meant it, too. The whole situation was a mess, and it was Cas's fault. The last thing he wanted was to go talking about it when he felt guilty and ashamed enough. He'd made a desperate grab for power and thought he'd had the upper hand with Crowley. He'd been wrong.
"There a reason you didn't want to tell me?" Dean cocked his head, his tone insecure, almost vulnerable.
Cas sighed. He set the comb down and peeled the gloves from his hands. "I don't know, Dean. The whole thing just sucks."
He pushed himself up off of the crate he was sitting on and left the enclosure. "It shouldn't have happened. I was hurt when we first got here. I was … scared of being human. Getting hurt. Being weak and vulnerable. I thought I could outplay Crowley again, and I couldn't."
"The only way to outplay Crowley is just not to play." They'd both learned that the hard way. Sam was smart enough not to even try. "We're lucky he's losing his teeth and didn't decide to kill you at this point."
Cas looked down at his feet. The weight of the world usually seemed to be on his shoulders, but even more so now. "So I can take out my grace, and it won't kill me, but I'll want it so much I wish I was dead. Or, I could just … stay how I am."
He'd told Dean that he'd give up his grace for him. That he'd be willing to, because Dean liked him better when he was human. Admitting to wanting to keep his grace felt like something to be ashamed of.
"But you won't," Dean said, almost without thinking. "Using your grace burns it out, right? You can't not use it. I know you. Next time there's a disaster, you won't not help people. You barely keep yourself from healing me when I get a cut at work."
Cas glanced up. "It's finite, yes."
"So…" Dean tapped his fingers on the table, struggling for the words he wanted. "It's… going to suck. A lot. But Sam kicked demon blood. I survived here with the Mark. We'll get you through it."
Cas didn't know how bad he could get, but Dean did.
Dean had seen a future where Cas was human and couldn't cope with it, where Cas had fallen into addiction and new-age bullshit trying to search for meaning in a world without Heaven. If he couldn't have his grace, he'd find something else: drinks, pills, sex, games on his tablet. He'd try to fill an empty void with something else, and keep chasing more and more of it.
Cas didn't know this.
Dean did.
"I can't be addicted to my own grace," said Cas. The grace wasn't his. The power wasn't his. "It's a part of me. Demon blood is an abomination. The Mark is nothing but corruption. Grace isn't addictive, no matter how Crowley feels like spinning it."
"No, but whatever he spiked it with is what will mess you up. It can't last forever." Dean wanted to believe it wouldn't last forever. "I just don't want to be someone you can't talk to while you're dealing with it."
Cas frowned slightly. "I talk to you, Dean."
"You know what I mean."
"You mean, about my feelings."
"I mean about your feelings."
Cas sighed, in a very Dean-like way, and spread his hands. "We're talking now."
Dean grumbled, not sure exactly where to go. Neither of them were very good at this. "Just… tell me next time shit like this comes up."
"Okay."
And that was that, or so it seemed.
Cas reached out and laid a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder, then leaned down and kissed the top of Dean's head. He lingered there, thoughtful, and then said: "I told you that I'd give it up. For you."
"I'm not asking you to do that." Dean reached up to grasp Cas's sleeve. "I mean, I'd be flattered. Hell, I'd be happy. But that's not something I can ask for."
"Why?" Cas asked. He reached for another chair and brought it over, sitting down close in front of Dean, their knees against one another. "Why would that make you happy?" He didn't know if that would make him happy. He didn't know if he'd ever fit in anywhere, regardless. Cas had been drifting here for months, keeping his head down, awkwardly talking to people who didn't know what to make of him. No Heaven, no Hell, even if he didn't want some kind of battle to fight he didn't know what to do now that he truly didn't have one.
"Why would being human together make me happy? For starters, I'd like to age at the same time. If we stick it out, I'll look like some old pervert next to you." Dean chuckled, nudging Cas's leg. "You miss out on a lot of the fun parts of being human. Sue me, I'd want to share that with you."
"Like PB and J," Cas said forlornly, his gaze drifting toward Princess, who was now taking a nap.
"Like that. Like…" There was nothing Dean could think of that didn't just sound cheesy. "I dunno. Hard to describe."
"Try." Cas was quite solemn about it.
"It…" Dean leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. "It's hard to pitch humanity to you because you're already human. All that shit that defines angels hasn't applied to you in a long damn time, you're just missing out on the mechanics. You're trying too hard to be something you're not anymore, so you're drifting. Missing the fun parts. There's eating and drinking, yeah, but… it's feeling things, even the things that hurt. Falling asleep next to someone. Needing a shower, really needing it. You already care about things the way angels don't, and yeah, the superpowers come in handy, but so was being a demon for me or drinking blood for Sam. Useful, but inhuman."
Cas leaned back a little. You're already human. He looked down at his hands, frowning. Was Dean right? He knew he wasn't truly an angel anymore. He knew he wanted to be with Dean and Sam more than he ever wanted to be with the angels again. He knew he didn't want to go back to Heaven, even if he could. He wanted to live with the Winchesters and do all of the things they liked to do.
Even if sometimes he felt broken inside. Even if sometimes he felt useless.
Angels didn't have emotions, not like this.
He took a breath like he wanted to say something, but instead he just exhaled and reached out, laying his hand heavily on Dean's.
Dean's response was to reach up and grasp the back of Cas's neck, his grip like an anchor. Then he pulled himself forward for a kiss, the gesture masculine and firm rather than gentle. Half the time, kissing was like an extension of their usual gestures — a squeeze of the shoulder, a pat on the back — holding their feet to the ground.
Cas leaned into the kiss, letting Dean hold on and not pulling back until it almost felt hard to breathe. Funny, how he needed to breathe at all. Humans were fascinating little machines — at least, that was what Cas would have thought five, six years ago. Now, he thought about air in his lungs, about his breath warm against Dean's skin. Not his vessel's, but his. This body was his.
"I … ah." He bowed his head, glancing away. "It was your birthday."
Dean groaned, pressing his forehead against Cas's shoulder. "Don't remind me."
Cas hesitated. That wasn't the response he'd been expecting. "Oh."
"They don't let you be twenty-nine forever," Dean added, trying to lighten the mood a little. "Eventually that lie will stop working, too."
"You've been alive for a mere blip of recorded history, Dean," said Cas flatly. "Take that into account."
He got up from his chair, and for a moment it seemed like he was irritated at Dean for one reason or another — until he reached into a supply box and pulled out something clumsily wrapped in brown paper.
"I got you this." He thrust it out at Dean.
"You got me a present?" Dean didn't even know that Cas knew when his birthday was, and he'd been expecting to let it slide by mostly unnoticed, save for maybe Sam saying something over dinner. (Instead, Sam had been aged down and managed to find an arrowhead, which Dean was wearing on a cord around his neck, tucked under his shirt.) Taking the gift and starting to open it, he added, "You really didn't have to."
"Dean, you were the intended vessel of Michael for the Apocalypse. Your birth was important." Cas shrugged a shoulder. "And your brother mentioned it."
Inside the paper was one of the standard-issue white mugs from the mess hall, but it had been painted to resemble a license plate — a rather familiar license plate. "The woman you possessed when you were a demon is putting together care packages for new arrivals," he said. "She hoarded most of the mugs for it. They're painting them. I … had her brother make that."
Dean turned it over in his hands, and what it was was immediately obvious. He knew every single plate the Impala had ever had by heart, and when he ran his thumb over the white numbers and letters, he smiled. "This is awesome. Thank you."
Cas smiled, barely, but he still seemed almost nervous.
"You're my home, Dean."
Dean glanced up, unsure of how to respond. It wasn't a bad thing. He'd never had a gift with words and his emotions were usually right there on his face, whether he liked it or not. The sentiment was heavier and more meaningful than I love you.
Eventually, Dean put the mug on the table and stood up so he could pull Cas into a tight, clinging hug.
Cas held onto him, burying his face against Dean's shoulder. All this time, worrying about where he belonged, and he knew. He knew that he belonged here with Dean, angel or human or whatever he was. Millions of years of life and he only felt like he was living when he could be here, with him. He knew a lot of angels who'd find that phenomenally stupid. Cas didn't care.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "About what Crowley did."
"It's fine," Dean replied, holding on so hard that there was a fistful of Cas's shirt in his hand. "Doesn't matter."
"It does. We're in this together."
"We are, which is why I don't want you hung up on feeling guilty. I found out, that's what matters." Pulling back, Dean kissed him again, bracing Cas's face in both hands. "I have to get back to work now, though, before I spend the rest of the day here."
Cas squinted at him, frowning. "Princess will miss you," he said, with utter seriousness.
"Princess is a dick," Dean answered, just as serious.
"You're right," said Cas, with a pat to Dean's shoulder. "Get out of here. Good talk."
"Nerd." Dean gave Cas an affectionate smack on the ass before he pulled away, picking up the mug on the way out. "I'm taking this with me."
Cas furrowed his brow. "Good. It's … for you."
"You're coming to dinner, right?"
Cas smiled, crooked and cocky — a direct imitation of Dean that didn't quite translate on his features. "I might even eat."