( Cas stands before him, and lays it all out there in a way that finally, finally feels honest. No more dodging, no more bullshit excuses, no more whatever it was he was telling himself in order to justify his absence — the way everyone always justifies their absence from him after they leave him.
Part of him wants to cling to that hurt, and wield it like a weapon. Part of him wants to punish, to rip himself away from the possibility of getting left again; you wanted to be gone, be gone. Just like part of him has always wanted to be strong enough to do to John, to Mary, sometimes to Sam.
But at the end of the day, he could never be that guy. If he were capable of letting go of people their story would have ended over ten years before he actually died.
God damn it, but he can't, when all he wants is to love and be loved in approximately equal measure — and here's Castiel, trying to convince him of that reciprocity being real for the first time in Dean's idiot life. The desperate desire to believe it lines up with the shape of Castiel's palm over his heart, and it stings at his eyes. They shine wet and shameful, because he's always been too easy to push to the edge of tears, despite his entire stupid fucking life hardening him against stuff like that. No amount of callouses have been able to rival the depth of how much he always feels.
And he feels so, so much for this stupid god damn angel. And he felt so, so much for Jo, whose loss feels like a gaping wound glaring betrayal at him from beyond for daring to feel loved right now without her — a guilt that's entirely self-manifested, that Jo herself would never actually saddle him with. And it all comes together, all of it, in a thick and heavy blanket of too much at once, and he can't keep blocking it all out with his deliberately obtuse denial anymore. The floodgates come down.
So he reaches out, and he reels Cas in against his chest, hanging on too tight, fingers digging bruises into the backs of his shoulders where the wings would be if they were real. )
Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear me? Don't ever do that again.
( It's a harsh and furious order half-whispered near Castiel's ear, because his throat's too thick to snarl it the way he'd wanted to. It comes out weaker than he intended, but no less steely for it. )
no subject
Part of him wants to cling to that hurt, and wield it like a weapon. Part of him wants to punish, to rip himself away from the possibility of getting left again; you wanted to be gone, be gone. Just like part of him has always wanted to be strong enough to do to John, to Mary, sometimes to Sam.
But at the end of the day, he could never be that guy. If he were capable of letting go of people their story would have ended over ten years before he actually died.
God damn it, but he can't, when all he wants is to love and be loved in approximately equal measure — and here's Castiel, trying to convince him of that reciprocity being real for the first time in Dean's idiot life. The desperate desire to believe it lines up with the shape of Castiel's palm over his heart, and it stings at his eyes. They shine wet and shameful, because he's always been too easy to push to the edge of tears, despite his entire stupid fucking life hardening him against stuff like that. No amount of callouses have been able to rival the depth of how much he always feels.
And he feels so, so much for this stupid god damn angel.
And he felt so, so much for Jo, whose loss feels like a gaping wound glaring betrayal at him from beyond for daring to feel loved right now without her — a guilt that's entirely self-manifested, that Jo herself would never actually saddle him with.
And it all comes together, all of it, in a thick and heavy blanket of too much at once, and he can't keep blocking it all out with his deliberately obtuse denial anymore. The floodgates come down.
So he reaches out, and he reels Cas in against his chest, hanging on too tight, fingers digging bruises into the backs of his shoulders where the wings would be if they were real. )
Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear me? Don't ever do that again.
( It's a harsh and furious order half-whispered near Castiel's ear, because his throat's too thick to snarl it the way he'd wanted to. It comes out weaker than he intended, but no less steely for it. )