SPN episode codas (Destiel)

11.10 The Devil in the Details

He's not sure why he thought Cas would actually get in the car.

It's not like they just went to Hell, or anything. Like Dean nearly got his windpipe crushed by the Devil. Like he's still riding out the last of that smiting sickness bullshit–whatever Cas called it. He can still taste bile. He ought to be in bed right now, but instead he's pulling out of that alleyway and sights Cas in the rear-view mirror, framed in a rusty doorway, leaning against chipped paint.

Sam needs to get home. He needs his family around him now, more than ever, and Cas–he's family, whether he likes it or not. Family means you get in the fucking car.

Dean focuses on the road, accelerator against the floor, and puts as much distance between them and that place as he can. He's exhausted and hungry. He doesn't want to see Crowley's mug for a couple lifetimes, never wants to see that cage or breathe the stench of Hell again.

Something about Cas was off just now, something in his eyes...Dean can't quite pinpoint what's eating at him. But Cas hardly seemed like the same person who rushed to him when Dean called earlier, held Dean's face in his hands as though Dean didn't reek of vomit, checked his eyes and mouth as though Dean hadn't just spewed his breakfast on the side of the road. Touched him as though he had a right to, as though he had permission. Like they touch every day. Like Cas wants to.

He doesn't remember calling, but Cas came anyway.

Sam's quiet. He's not asleep, but he doesn't attempt conversation. Dean doesn't ask what happened; Sam will talk when he's ready. Dean keeps their speed above 80 once they hit US-281, hauling ass south out of Nebraska. He ignores the empty back seat. They'll be home in about an hour. Cas said he's going to catch up with them. He's got his own wheels, and Dean wasn't going to ask twice.

Maybe Cas needs some time. A little breathing room. It was a tough day for him, too. But after the cage, after the climb back to the surface, he didn't ask if Dean was hurt. Didn't offer to heal him like usual. Cas, who was ready to impale Dean on a finger to get his temperature a few hours ago, just paid him nothing like the attention he'd shown on the roadside. He was politely distant. And to Sam he just...waved.

It doesn't feel right. Doesn't feel like Cas.

He didn't offer to help Sam. Didn't worry about the way Dean was limping, or reach for him the way Dean's grown accustomed. Didn't fuss over him until Dean was flustered enough to snap at Cas to stop, and Cas didn't come home with them so Dean could fuss over him in return–soothe the markings on his chest; make enough food to last a week; tuck him and Sammy both into bed, even though Cas doesn't need to sleep.

He was gonna ask if Cas wanted to bunk with him, for once. Maybe give that temperature thing a go.

But Cas didn't ask if Dean was all right, or look at Dean with that too-familiar longing in his eyes, and didn't touch him. He didn't get in the car.