otp: starbucks

(also on ao3)

He’s been staring at the ceiling for an hour, jaw tight, neck-deep in self-pity and misery, when the phone rings. In one fluid movement, he rolls over, grabs the phone from where it lies next to the facedown photo on his nightstand, and unthinkingly thumbs over the ‘accept call’.

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas’s voice is rough and familiar in his ears and Dean, so stone-faced and numb only a moment ago, finds himself precariously close to breaking. He just breathes for a moment, not trusting himself to speak.

More hesitantly this time, Cas’s voice crackles through the speaker again. “Dean?”

“Why do you keep coming back?” He didn’t plan on asking this, doesn’t know what kind of answer he wants. Doesn’t know whether he’s looking for hope or an excuse to pick a fight, push Cas away for good. Both thoughts are equal measures of terrifying, though for entirely different reasons. “I mean, you always leave, and I get that part.” Who’d want to stick around and put up with his shit? His own mother hadn’t lasted more than a month. “But you keep coming back.” His voice cracks on the last word. Cas’s understanding of him always feels like it’s in extremes: sometimes Dean feels as though Cas can look into him and see every atom, look past every ounce of self-loathing and posturing and macho bullshit and all but read his every thought. But other times, it’s like he doesn’t have a fucking clue and Dean desperately hopes this time it’s the latter, that Cas can’t hear how quickly Dean’s threadbare heart is unraveling.

There’s a long, unbearable pause. Dean is a split second away from just hanging up and erasing this whole disaster from his memory when a long, staticky sigh breaks the quiet. “Mary left, didn’t she.”

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