xylodemon:

everything’s going to be fine; dean is a worry-wart

–

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Sam says patiently.

“No, it isn’t,” Dean snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing in our lives is ever fine.”

“Dean,” Sam starts, but Dean just waves him off.

“He could get hurt.”

“Yeah, he could,” Sam admits, stuffing a lore book in his bag. “But, so could I. So could you. That’s the job. Besides, it’s just a couple ghouls.”

“What if it isn’t just ghouls? The newspaper said one of the corpses was missing a head. That could be hoodoo.”

Sam snorts. “In Montana?”

“Okay, yeah. It’s probably ghouls.” Dean paces to the end of the table, unable to make himself breathe. All he can see is Cas sitting limp in April’s chair, and the terrifying split-second before Cas rammed an angel blade into Ephraim’s chest. “I just – he doesn’t have his grace anymore. He can’t just –” he waves his hands around “– you know.”

“He’s a good fighter.”

“He’s a lousy shot.”

“I was a lousy shot,” Cas says, coming into the library. “I’m markedly better than I was a few weeks ago.” He pauses for a second, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, should I go back out so you can keep talking about me like I’m not here?”

Sam splits a frown between them, then shoulders his bag. “I’m going to finish loading the car. You two just… whatever.”

The silence is horrible; finally, Cas sighs and says, “Look, Dean, I know you preferred me as an angel –”

“What? No, no way.”

“– but if I’m going to stay here, I want to pull my weight.”

“Cas,” Dean says, looking at his human clothes and his human slouch and his stupid, human bed-head. Everything inside him lurches; he thinks he might be sick. “This isn’t about you losing your mojo. I want you here, juiced up or not.”

Anger clouds Cas’ face. “You think I can’t take care of myself.”

“I think if you died I would fucking lose it.”

Once the words are out Dean wants them back; they seem to just hang there, making him obvious, exposing everything he’s kept buried for years. He turns around, leaning his hands on the table so he doesn’t have to look at Cas, but then Cas is standing behind him. He leans in close, laying a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I think this is the closest you’ve ever come to telling me.”

“Telling you what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“If you already know,” Dean says shakily, “why do you want me to say it?”

“If you say it I can do something about it.”

Closing his eyes, Dean takes a deep breath. “Like what?”

“I was thinking of kissing you, but only if you’ve finished shouting.”

Dean chokes out a noise; he can’t make himself move. Behind him, Cas huffs under his breath, then nudges at his shoulder and hip until he has to turn around. He catches his fingers in the front of Cas’ shirt; Cas leans in and brushes their lips together, holding Dean’s hot face in his hands.

“Come on,” he says, against the corner of Dean’s mouth. “We have to go kill some ghouls.”