(for captainshakespear, who is having a long day)
Let’s talk about Dean calling Cas while he’s on the road. He doesn’t know why he does it; Cas is busy doing angel things, and god knows he booked out of the bunker as fast as he could the night they patched up Dean’s soul, but Dean is stuck in a shitty motel outside Springfield, trapped indoors because of the rain, and Sam off somewhere hustling pool, and Dean can’t make himself settle, even after two beers.
Cas answers on the third ring, his voice slow and quiet and gruff, and for a split-second Dean worries that Cas had been sleeping, then remembers that Cas is all juiced up again. That doesn’t stop him from imagining it: Cas rubbing at his eyes, and at the pillow creases on his cheek, his hair disheveled, curling wildly behind his ears.
“Where are you?” Dean asks.
“Logan, Utah,” Cas replies, and that’s over a thousand miles from Missouri, too far drive to out there on the pretense of a hunt, but he wants to – Jesus Christ, he wants to. He and Sam came to Springfield for a job that turned out to be bogus, and Sam figured they’d might as well stay the night and make a few dollars since they already charged the room, but Dean would hit the road in an instant if he thought Cas wanted him around.
He sighs instead, and mumbles, “Sorry,” into the phone, because Utah is the worst, easily his least favorite state. “Are you having any luck, at least?”
“No,” Cas admits irritably. “Locating these angels is proving difficult, likely because they do not want to be found, and – I’m not sure forcing them to return to heaven is still the best course.”
“Then stop,” Dean blurts, and heat flushes across his face, but now that the words have started he can’t make himself stop. “Come back h – come back to the bunker. Sammy and I are heading there in the morning.”
“Dean, I – ”
“I miss you.”
Cas is silent for a long time, long enouh that Dean almost hangs up, embarrassment a living thing in his gut. They’ve been friends all these years, but Cas has his mojo back, and is making plans to go back to heaven and maybe stay there, and Dean is just a dipshit human who keeps getting himself marked for hell. Then:
“I miss you, too.” Cas sighs into the phone, the sound rattling in Dean’s ear like the wind. “Of all the things I have done on earth, I much prefer hunting with you to anything else.”
It takes a second for that to sink in – to really sink in – but when it does, the cold weight that has been in Dean’s gut for weeks starts to warm and ease away. “Then do it. Come back.”
“Yes, all right. I – I will.”
“Okay,” Dean says, smiling. “I’ll see you at home.”