always

UST

Castiel can't do this. He can't be human.

He's been back at the bunker just over a week. He was ready to leave the hospital. He probably left sooner than he should've, but Sam and Dean managed to get him out early, using the proper badges of course.

At first, being back at the bunker wasn't bad. All of his energy was focused on getting better. He's still far from being fully recovered, but he was too tired to really focus on anything for the first few days for things to get annoying. But then Dean hardly left his side. And that got old fast. Castiel snapped yesterday morning and yelled at Dean saying he didn't need his help and that he was perfectly capable on his own. He was very wrong and knew it when he was saying it too, but he just needed some time alone. He regrets everything.

He never should've gone to Heaven's gate. He should have just wandered the Earth for the rest of his days. Sam and Dean would have been fine. Castiel would have been fine. Why did he ever think going back would be a good idea?

All of these thoughts and frustrating human emotions have been swirling in his mind. He tried to shave this morning, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking enough for him to do it. His body is still weak. He's still weak. And Castiel hates his growing facial hair. It reminds him of Purgatory. There's too much maintenance in being human.

Take now for instance. Castiel just wants to eat and is trying to make an omelet. His first problem is he isn't quite sure what goes in an omelet besides eggs and maybe onions? He left his phone in his room, and he doesn't want to go back for it to look up how to make omelets. Walking is still difficult, and his wound hurts more than he's letting on. He just wants to be independent again.

But now Castiel is hungry and frustrated and there's yolk on his hands, and his stupid meal of onions and three eggs doesn't look like an omelet. He's just making scrambled eggs. He can't do anything right.

He knows he's being dramatic, and this is just his hunger and frustration coming out, but he just wants an omelet, dammit.

Castiel's been trying to correct his meal for too long and now the eggs are burnt. He clicks the stove off angrily and dumps his burnt eggs into the trash. It isn't even worth eating. He'll just starve.

Castiel angrily stomps over to the sink with his pan, and pain shoots through his wound. He sucks in a sharp breath. He needs to move slower, but he doesn't want to. He hates being restricted in his body like this.

There's egg burned onto the pan and trying to wash it off is a bitch, and Castiel knows he's scrubbing too hard because he's sweating and his wound is throbbing again, but he just wants to do one thing right. The pan slips from his grasp and clatters into the sink. It doesn't even look like any egg has come off. Hot tears run down his face.

Is he crying over dishes? Really?

"Hey, Cas," Dean says from somewhere behind him.

Castiel tenses. He didn't even hear Dean walk up. Dean can't know he's crying. Castiel glares at the pan in the sink. This is somehow its fault.

"Cas, you okay?"

"No." It's as if his admission opens up a dam, and the tears he was already failing to hold back completely break free and drip down his face.

Dean grabs his arm and turns him around. "What happened? Are you hurt? Cas, talk to me."

Castiel refuses to look into Dean's eyes and stares at his feet. "I can't—I can't do anything!"

"Alright, calm down. Take a deep breath." Dean rubs his hand comfortingly along Castiel's arm, which only makes Castiel cry harder. Dean's been so good to him, and all Castiel has done is push him away.