broken ➳ destiel

fourteen

"two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the universe or we are not. both are equally terrifying." arthur c. clarke

☁

Cas didn't understand how he ended up at that bar, tagging along with Dean, Sam and Charlie. But he did. Perhaps he wanted to see Dean's never-ending smile, the way his shoulders slumped over when he laughed, how his teeth shined and made his eyes glow so extortionate. Perhaps it was the way his fingers slightly brushed over his when they were staring so passionately that every single second felt like a century, when his eyes flickered down to his lips, opening his own so tinily that you could only see the darkness of his mouth.

Perhaps he wanted to so excessively just feel the plummeting drop in his stomach, to feel the tiny butterflies flattering around his gut. To hear the velveteen of his voice, to taste the iron that pooled up in his mouth when he bit down on his lips so hard to stop himself from kissing the man. He wanted somebody, especially him, to just tell him it'll be okay, to see the purity in his emotions, that he actually cared.

The semi-angel knew that Dean was broken, he could just simply tell. He could tell from the way Dean's hands sat quietly in his lap when he talked, when his smile faded away too quickly, almost as if it was fake. His excessive alcohol junctures, and the fear in Sam's face when he saw the way Dean's eyes were drowned by the liquids, how he slumped in his chair to relax the bone-chilling nerves portrayed in his spine. 

The fear, the fear that was so real, because Dean's own brother was scared of how he would turn out. The younger one knew that alcohol consumed his dad's life, almost to the point of practically drowning himself in the alcohol-induced liquids, Sam didn't want Dean to treat anybody the way their father does. Sam knew he was so much stronger, emotionally, than their dad. Castiel knew that too. He met John once before, and it did not go at all what he expected. He thought their father would be kind to the new angel, but instead he lashed out anger that he had been holding in for who knew how long.

He also knew the anger that the whole Winchester family had carried. John, who started the whole goddamn mess, was a goddamn mess himself. Dean, the first child of him strived to be more like his father, who followed every single footstep. Sam, the second and youngest didn't want to be a hunter, he wanted a life. The brothers did care so much for other people, but seeing the hatred that John had brought upon them had really strived how they pertained people.

Cas' body jolted up and his thighs shook with every speed bump that they had drove over. He could never get used to cars, and how exceedingly fast they were actually going. Every hill they managed to surpass, Cas held tightly onto Baby's door handles, slightly glancing up at the rearview mirror to see Dean's concentrated eyes not staring back. 

Instead of talking, he put his hands in his lap and peeled skin around his fingernail that so desperately needed to be pulled off, yet he couldn't manage to do it. He couldn't manage to do anything. For example, just rip the skin off, ignoring the pain, just like he needed to rip his heart out to Dean, ignoring the immense pain that will last longer than an unadorned sting. Castiel couldn't even fathom the substantial, prodigious torment that would come through Dean's possible actions.

The first and most likely possible answer was rejection. A flotsam, drifting away at bay. Ridiculed as useless, fragile. Castiel would tell his unnatural, inhumane feelings that Dean would be so struck back, so disgusted, that all he could do was tell him no. Agliophobia, possibly. The fear of pain. The fear of anybody, anything hurting him. Anybody in the car could hurt him, kill him. Which is what brought up his second possible answer.

The second possibly answer was death. Dean could so easily just have left him, dumped him like a heap of garbage anywhere, and let him rot. The non-angel was so persistently scared of death, because broken angels didn't know where they went when they died. Hell, possibly. Heaven, possibly. But Castiel didn't want to be separated from the world, he didn't want to be tortured in hell, or locked up in his own fake memories in heaven. He wanted to be real. He wanted Dean to touch him in a way that it sent chills down his arms. He wanted people to know he was real, and not just some broken angel who's tagging along just for the sake of it.