solitarysloth | This 5x18 coda is late.

*sigh* Once again, Survivor takes precedence over Show. On the bright side, it gave me time to finally post this. I should have finished it ages ago; at least I got it in before the episode in case Cas comes back, I suppose.

Title: Your Eyes Are Open
Rating: PG-13
Characters and Pairing: Dean/Castiel pre-slash, Sam
Spoilers: 5x18
Word Count: ~2900
Summary: After Van Nuys, Castiel thinks Dean is as good as dead. So while he tries to learn to live without Dean, Sam and Dean try to find him.
A/N: Holy shit, I finally fucking finished it! This is the longest fic that I have ever actually completed, which is pretty pathetic, but wow. Possibly I have been playing too much Robot Unicorn Attack because the title is from Erasure's "Always". I'm pretty sure that song is going to be stuck in my head forever.
I totally blame that game for why I didn't finish this earlier. That, and the anon meme, which I just discovered and love.

There was dirt, rich and wet under his fingernails and dust dry in his throat. His whole body was aching and somewhere, someone was shouting.

He blinked, opened his eyes to mud and crushed trout lilies, and rolled over onto his back. His palm, when he lifted a hand to press against his pounding head, was laced with cuts and covered in blood.

Alive. He was alive. That was more than he had expected, really.

The shouting and anger was still there, loud and thick around him, but mixed in with it, he slowly realised, was triumph.

Michael had a vessel.

Castiel pushed away the awareness of his brothers and as the noise and riotous emotion faded, his own despair, crushing and bone-deep rose up. It weighed his limbs down and made him wish that he had not survived, that he would not have to live now to face Dean's failure and betrayal. He laid on the ground there a while longer, lost in the tug of the Earth on this body, the rustle of the forest. His grace was in tatters in his vessel. He focussed on that, knitting together the raw edges, enough for him to heal the wounds on the vessel's chest and so that he could pull himself to his feet.

The world swayed around him when Castiel stood up, so that he had to clutch at a tree to keep from falling. He rested his forehead against the rough bark, coughing weakly, blood thick in his mouth, and even when he spit it out, the scent wouldn't leave him, was everywhere. He had enough to fly now, but the world was empty and he had nowhere to go, so he stayed there and listened to the world growing around him, unaware that it was really dying.

---

There were no leads on either Adam or Castiel. They had to believe that both were okay, out there somewhere, although hopefully for Adam, 'somewhere' meant safe back in Heaven, because there weren't many alternatives. Cas though, Cas was out there and they were gonna find him.

"This place is bust Sammy, let's just burn this fucker and go."

Sam looked up from his laptop and would have glared at his brother were it not for the frustration and exhaustion on his face. "Sorry, no ghost either, unless you count the ghost kittens."

"Why are we still here then? Let's go."

"Where?"

"Who the fuck cares, but we're not finding Cas here."

Sam sighed and went back to finding something for Dean to set on fire or shoot in the face.

"Look, maybe we should head back to Bobby's." Dean didn't speak much lately -- even less than usual, and Sam had to raise his voice to be heard over the radio. The road stretched out to the horizon ahead and behind them, and between the dusty yellow plains on either side and the grey sky, the whole world seemed washed-out. Empty. Sam was becoming increasingly convinced that they wouldn't find their answers out there.

Dean was silent long enough for Sam to think he wasn't going to answer, but then he grunted out, "Fine," so that was that.

It'd been nearly three weeks by the time they reached Bobby's and Sam really should have remembered that the catharsis of stabbing demons and burning things didn't last very long, but he had hoped, dammit. But now instead of bitching at Sam and driving too fast with the music too loud, Dean was irritable, drinking as he banged around Bobby's house, when he wasn't outside drinking and fixing cars. And he still bitched at Sam.

Sam tried to ignore him now, flipping through a musty thick book in search of something useful in the scant useful lore on angels and drinking deeply from his beer, across from Sam while Sam scoured the internet for anything that might give them a sign as to where Cas had turned up. Not for the first time he wished he was skilled enough to hack into police databases and hospital records.

"Hey, what about that summoning ritual we used the first time?"

"No, Bobby thinks it'll be like putting up a big flare for Heaven -- 'Renegade angel here'." Sam hated to see the faint hope fall away back into cold despair, especially since he knew how Dean blamed himself.

"Right, fine," Dean said, downing the rest of his beer and going to the kitchen for another. When he came back, he had his phone in his hand and was dialling Cas again. He hadn't at first, leaving that to Sam while he pretended like he wasn't watching anxiously, figuring that Castiel wouldn't want to hear from him. After the first week though, he had taken to trying to call the angel regularly, even though it never went through.

Sam could just hear the faint, tinny voice telling Dean that the call could not be completed as dialled before Dean flipped the phone shut in disgust, dropped back into his chair, and set the phone down on top of the book, staring at it sullenly while he drank from his beer.

After a few minutes, he shoved the phone aside and began flipping through the book again, before slamming it shut, making Sam look up wearily.

"Look, I'm shit at this research thing; you're the geek here. I'm going out."

Sam tried not to sigh in relief as Dean stalked out, slamming the front door behind him, when he knew that Dean was just going to sit in some bar and get drunk off his ass, but at least this way he could maybe get some actual research done.

Fifteen minutes later, the rumble of an engine that wasn't the Impala's sounded from out front and Sam stiffened, and approached the door with his gun drawn.

It was only Bobby though, who nodded at him in approval and then said, "Get your ass out here and bring the groceries in if you want to eat tomorrow."

As soon as he finished, he met Bobby in the living room, reading the book that Dean had discarded.

"Hear from Chuck, yet?" he said, as soon as Sam came in.

"Yeah, he called back, but he said he hasn't seen anything useful yet -- told us to stop calling and he'll let us know as soon as he can," he added.

Sam went back to his laptop, but he found himself being distracted, searching for demonic omens and signs of the two remaining Horsemen. He realised he was slowly giving into the thought that there wasn't anything they could do.

When Dean came back, he just grabbed his cell phone, which was still on the table, sitting at Bobby's elbow, and then went straight upstairs. He wasn't even drunk, which meant he had spent the past three hours driving around in the dark. Sam wasn't sure if that was better or worse than the drinking.

---

The second place Castiel went, when, after several days, he roused himself from the stupor that had consumed him, was to the motel room from whence he and Sam had taken Dean. He'd expected it would be the first place he went. It wasn't.

The first place he went was Jaycee Park in Pontiac, Illinois. Jimmy had often taken Claire there when she was young, and he found himself there without any conscious decision. It felt peaceful. Humans were intensely physical things, and he thought perhaps that it was some memory-reaction engraved into the vessel itself, like the hedonistic craving for food had been.

His grace curled throughout his vessel, sinking and wrapping himself into every cell, becoming as one with this body as he was capable of. He wasn't fully healed yet, far from it, the damage that the spell, and then his brothers, had inflicted wasn't like to heal any time soon and would leave deep scars. But it was enough that he could travel short distances and could mend his vessel so that he wouldn't attract attention. As he settled deeper into the body, he began to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and the emotions grew stronger, the feeling of maudlin peace at once pushing away and increasing the anger and despair.

He was alone now. He wanted to hate Dean, wanted it so much that it ached. But he couldn't, because he knew him. Knew Dean's soul and his worth and righteousness, knew the all-consuming pain and desire to protect, and he knew that he still loved the man, even as he still raged against him and his decision.

Castiel sat on a bench and watched the children on the playground, innocent and free of the burden of war and the apocalypse. With both Michael and Lucifer walking the Earth now, they wouldn't remain that way much longer.

Dean had-- He cut off that thought. It didn't matter anymore what Dean had once done, or said.

Except.

Except he had rebelled against Heaven, his family, because Dean had told him that the world was worth saving. Now, seeing the children who would grow up only to suffer, or who would not grow up at all, he wasn't so sure. Hadn't Dean decided that it was better not to suffer; he had chosen the peace that Heaven offered.

On the playground, a young girl was crying. When a boy that she had never met before came over, she showed him her scraped knee and a ninja turtle, her favourite toy, now broken. The boy held out his hand to help her up and introduced her to the joy of dinosaurs.

He went to the motel room after, to find it empty. The box that had been left there was gone, along with Dean's half-empty liquor bottle. Castiel briefly wondered if Sam had returned for Dean's things or if they had been cleared out by the motel manager, before deciding that it didn't really matter.

The third place he went was to a liquor store.

Later, sitting on the sidewalk in the rain, Castiel saw a plastic shark drowning in the gutter and made a decision.

---

When Dean and Sam eventually found Castiel it was in a bar in McLean, Nebraska and they almost missed him, the sullen guy in a dark corner who had given up on shots and was nursing a bottle of vodka.

They had gotten to the town to find the demons they had been hunting already gone, exorcised, and had retreated to the bar to mourn the fact that they had just driven six hours just to get to the middle-of-fucking-nowhere.

Dean was glancing around the bar, watching out of habit for signs of trouble and the type of women he liked (all of them), when he stiffened suddenly. Sam, beside him, put his beer down, a hand going to the gun hidden in his coat.

"What is it?" he asked, watching Dean's wide eyes and white-knuckle grip on the wood of the counter.

Instead of answering, Dean got up, heading to the back of the bar. Sam sighed and followed wordlessly. Halfway there, he finally recognised the bent head of dark, messy hair and the omnipresent trenchcoat.

"Cas." More a breath than a word.

Castiel, seemingly fascinated by the swirl of vodka in the bottle in his hands, didn't look up even when they stood in font of him, across the small table.

After a few moments of just staring at the hunched figure, Dean stepped closer and said, "Cas," his voice tight and rough, scared.

Castiel froze, dropping the bottle to spill across the table and jerked his head up, all wide eyes and slack mouth. His expression quickly turned to confusion. "Dean? How--" He shut his mouth abruptly, eyes glancing quickly to Sam, standing there awkwardly, then back to Dean.

The change in the angel was sudden and unexpected. He shoved his chair back roughly and stood up, glaring at Dean for a moment, before growling, "You fucking--" and hauling back and punching Dean.

Then he walked away, brushing past Dean, on the floor. He was already out the door by the time Sam was kneeling beside Dean, saying, "Shit, Dean, are you--"

"I'm fine," Dean ground out, "Just. Cas, we can't lose him." He pushed to his feet and Sam followed him towards the door, not saying that there was no way that Cas was still hanging around.

But when they got outside, there he was, standing just outside the door, stiff and still as ever. He didn't respond when Dean tried to talk to him, but he following them when they walked back to the car, so Sam counted that as a win, even if he still did look lost and angry.

Castiel opened the door and slid into the back seat as soon as they got to the Impala. Dean and Sam followed his movement, getting into the front. Dean turned off the music as soon as it came on and they drove in silence back to Bobby's.

Things weren't much better when they got there. Sam told Bobby what happened, but Castiel still wouldn't speak except to say that he was fine and to confirm that it was he who had dealt with the demons. Castiel mostly stood around awkwardly and wouldn't let Dean out of his sight, as if he was afraid that Dean might disappear again or say yes.

They ended up sitting around in the living room while Sam explained to Castiel what had gone down in the green room after Cas had vanished. Castiel in turn watched Dean while Sam spoke, his jaw tight. For a while Sam thought he might attack Dean again, but when Sam finished Cas just nodded and shadowed Dean out to the kitchen and back when Dean went to get a beer.

Bobby's house always seemed disconcertingly quiet at night, it felt like it should creak more than it did. There were crickets, though, and a dog somewhere off in the distance. Dean stood in the kitchen, sipping at a glass of water and wondering vaguely where Cas was. He didn't believe for a second that he had flown off, not now, but in his absence, the guy seemed to have forgotten what little he had learned about personal space. Insanely, it niggled at Dean that Cas hadn't been watching him sleep, too.

He was putting his empty glass down by the sink and turning back to his makeshift bed on the living room couch when he caught a flash of tan out the window. Dean frowned and opened the door, slipping out onto the porch.

Castiel seemed small and vulnerable, standing bent over on the porch with his arms crossed on the railing and forehead press against them. He looked over as Dean approached and he looked utterly lost.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said.

Dean stared down in confusion as he settled himself, leaning back against the railing beside Castiel, before saying, "What the hell do you have to be sorry for? I'm the one who fucked up. And if this is about hitting me, seriously, I told you last time, that's what family does."

Castiel, unable to meet Dean's eyes, looking down. "No Dean -- I failed you. I should have had more faith in you."

"Shit Cas, that's just fucked. You did good. Okay, man? You did good." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I didn't even know I was going to say no and you still risked your life to help me."

Castiel straightened and turned to Dean, his anger rising again. "Sam trusted you. I have pledged myself to you, Dean. I'm an angel, created for faith and obedience, and how could I lose faith in you when even someone like Sam still trusted you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, his voice low and threatening.

But Castiel ignored him and continued on, relentless. "I have known you soul Dean, have cradled it in my grace. I know every part of you intimately and see the way that you shine so brightly." Castiel's eyes bore into Dean and when he spoke it was harsh and self-loathing. "So bright and pure and righteous, outshining everything around you. Knowing you, as I do, how could I have ever doubted you? I cannot have not fallen so far that I can doubt you too, that the faith that I once put in you means nothing to me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Dude, I am not your fucking God-replacement." Castiel tilted his head slightly. It was only when Dean leaned back slightly to put a head on Castiel's shoulder that he realised how close they had gotten. "I get that you're an angel and everything, and that all the shit that's happened lately has really fucked things up for you. But, no. Just, no, that is so not cool."

Castiel leaned forward, closing the gap that Dean had opened up. "What I said is true, Dean."

Dean sighed heavily and decided that the best way forward was going to be to ignore that this night had ever happened. He shifted to stand beside Cas again, slinging an arm across his shoulders. "Yeah, well, I guess we're all a bit fucked-up then." Their eyes caught again; Dean grinned at him and Cas lit up a bit in response. He still felt the sadness there around the edges, but they were all together again and that was enough to be getting on with.