Better Or Worse (Destiel Short Story)

One

Now

"Look daddy, papas happy." There is so much amazement in Jack's eyes when he points this out to Dean. It feels like a stab to the fucking gut that Castiel is laughing at a tv show Dean has never even heard of before. His husband is crying because he's laughing so hard, smacking Meg because he can't speak, gasping between silent, wheezing laughter.

"Yeah, buddy, why don't you go up to your room and build your new train while daddy cooks dinner?" Dean pulled Jack's new train set from one of the grocery bags and Jack takes it with an excited nod of agreement. He kicks his shoes off and sets them neatly on the rack by the door before running up the stairs, the pieces of the set jangling in the box.

Dean stands in the doorway for a moment, holding bags of groceries and feeling like his stomach might be coming up through his throat. It takes everything in him to turn away from Cas and Megs second round of hysterical laughter and walk to the kitchen instead. He drops the groceries on the counter and pauses as his eyes settle on the kitchen table. Castiel's robe is draped over the back of one chair, and Dean gives up on trying to hide his discontent. His face and his shoulders fall, lips parting on a shaky sigh. Dean's been trying for over two years to get Castiel out of that damn robe, but Meg manages it just a few days? Dean walks over and yanks the material from the chair, stuffing it deep into a laundry basket in the linen closet, no longer able to stand looking at it.

The groceries get put away, with everything he needs to cook dinner out on the counter. He opens the window above the sink, letting in the warm evening breeze, allowing the setting sun to filter through. The Google home on the sill plays a classic rock station at a low volume. Dean sings along under his breath as he sautés beef on the stove and chops vegetables between every stir. He turns up his music when Castiel and Megs laughter become a little too constricting on his heart.

Dean loves that Castiel is having a good time with Meg. He loves that he's out of bed and out of his pajamas and out of his shell of darkness, but he hates that he played no part in that. After hundreds of hours trying and trying, Dean still wasn't enough. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe Dean just wanted so badly to be his cure, to be what helps him through this storm. Maybe that's what's clouding his judgement. Perhaps there was nothing Dean could have done in the first place. Dean made Castiel comfortable in his sadness. Dean kept him fed and warm and hydrated even if he didn't leave his bed. Dean picked up an extra job when Castiel was too sad to look for another one. Dean bathed him when he was too numb to do it himself. Dean loved him so much that he allowed Castiel to become one with his depression.

Then Castiel took one look at Meg and suddenly his world had color again. Dean is trying so hard not to let that break his heart. Dean is trying to enjoy the fact that Castiel is back to himself, but it's overshadowed by the immense fear that he'll slide right back into bed the moment Meg leaves. And Dean will go back to waiting on him hand and foot, loving instead of helping.

Little trips out to the garden and a different diet obviously don't hold a candle to Meg Masters.

The ringing of his phone snapped Dean out of his thoughts. He flinched and nearly knocked the pot off of the stove as his heart rate accelerated. With a sigh, Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and blindly pressed the answer button.

"Hello?" He greeted in a neutral tone.

"Hey, I just got your text. Not sure what to make of 'Meg masters fixed my husband'. Who's Meg masters and what has she done with Castiel?" Sam's voice filtered through the line with an upbeat chirp in his tone that made Dean's stomach churn.

"Meg Masters is a spunky brunette who Castiel was best friends with in college. It's funny though, because I've maybe heard her name twice before. It took her five minutes in a room with him to get him out of bed. You know what my running time is? Three hours. I have spent three hours by that damn bed bargaining and begging Cas to get up." Dean was angry again. Dean was a lot of things, too many things. There were too many emotions running rampant in his head, none of which he particularly wanted to deal with.