The Angel Seed

Broken Memories

Dean stared at the letter in hand. He glanced over to Castiel's back, his wings strayed and lonely as he rose and fell in his sleep. He turned back to the letter and stared a moment more. He didn't think his father would die, he wouldn't die. He knew he wouldn't die without a word from his son.

Leaning back against the head board of the bed, he looked over to Castiel. On his side with his back to Dean, he slept quietly and without movement. Dean had always wondered if Castiel could really dream, and if he did, what would he dream about? Open fields of grain, the blue sky over him, mountains in the distance, and trees at the foot of a lake? Wide open skies of white clouds and the taste of stars as he would fly through them?

He sighed and rolled off the bed. It was midnight. Every one was asleep, even the horses and sheep in the barn. Nothing in the night made an attempt to disturb the sleeping town, not even Dean's thoughts could wake the neighboring houses far in the distance. Dean leaned his head back on the head board and closed his eyes.

He would have to see his father soon. To be reminded of the things they did, and the people they've lost in the process. All he could see when he looked to his dad was regret, a self image of his dying right in his own death bed. That would be him in the end. Dying in self loathing and pity for what he did and what he regretted in his life, it would kill him right to the grave.

Dean placed the letter down on the night stand and turned off the lamp, laying down in the bed he rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the ceiling. He looked to Castiel and his back, he wondered if he could sleep without having to think of things. Having a free mind. Being so oblivious to things that it didn't bother him, he wondered if it was like that in Castiel's head. Turning on his side his hand brushed against Castiel's wing, and moving only made Castiel move. Turning on his back, Castiel cracked his eyes open in an unconscious state and moved closer to Dean. Becoming a victim to being there, Castiel's wings laid over Dean's side and his arms as well.

He was stuck there now. Dean had become a human pillow and he couldn't move if he wanted, Castiel had to move for him to slip away ­­ but Dean didn't want to. He wanted to stay right there. In the morning, Dean stood on the hill watching Castiel climb up the apple trees and pick apples, smacking a few of them down at a time. The morning sun licking his face, he didn't mind the blinding sun because he could just close his eyes for a moment and still know that Castiel was still there. Dean squinted across he field to Castiel who stepped down from the tree and looked into his basket.

"Cas." Dean called.

Castiel looked up from the basket, and it sort of dropped in his hands. His arms staying by his side with the basket still in hand.

Dean waved him over, " C'mere." He walked over and held the basket with two hands stopping in front of Dean.

"Sit. We gotta talk."

Castiel sat down with the basket in his lap, "About what, Dean?"

Dean took the basket and placed it on the other side of him, "Things." He mumbled looking out to the orchard. "Look, you know I've been angry for a few weeks."

Castiel nodded.

"I've been angry because I keep getting this letter." He pulled out the letter he had been dawning over and holding with him. "It's about my father. He's ­­," he paused, "You see, my dad's been getting really sick lately. And ­­ he's going to die."

Cas' face softened.

"I've been angry because the people who send these letters keep sending them. Saying that he's going to die, and that I have to make him a grave soon."

Castiel leaned over, putting his hands on Dean's forearm. "He's going to die?" He whined. Eyes growing brighter and sad.

Dean glanced between his eyes, worry spreading. "It's going to be okay Cas. He's not going to die." He reassured. "I know he isn't."

His lips quivered and his eyes were thin with water.

Dean pulled him in, "He's not going to die Cas." He smiled, "I'm suppose to be the one who's teary eyed and sad." Dean pulled Castiel close, putting Cas' head on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around his shoulder.

Cas popped up, "Can we go see him?"

"No, no, no." Dean rejected, "We can't. He doesn't even know ­­." His father doesn't know that Dean is even still hanging around with the things he left behind. His dad doesn't even know the things that happened in the last five years to him, let alone about Castiel.

"Why?"

Dean stared at the teary eyed angel who stared up at him with watery eyes, red cheeks, and pink lips. He cleaned away the tears with his thumb and smiled, "He doesn't like surprises." He said. "You'll understand one day." He said fixing the hair on Castiel's head like a mother would to her child. Castiel leaned in and hugged Dean. Dean again didn't let his arms touch Castiel so suddenly. "Cas, why are you hugging me? I'm not angry."

He looked up, "I am angry."

He was taken back. "Why are you angry Castiel?"

Castiel dug his head into the nape of Dean's neck, "Because you don't love yourself."

Dean's heart sank, he choked on his own words. "Where did you hear that?"

"Joanne said you don't love ­­ yourself." His voice vibrated against Dean's neck, he didn't move his head from Dean's neck nor did he looked up or away.

"I am angry that you don't ­­ love your..self."

Dean's eyes leaned down. Castiel was angry because Dean didn't love himself. Dean hated himself because his father didn't love him. His father hated himself because he didn't love. They all have problems, but it still wasn't enough for Dean to tell himself that. It wasn't enough ­­ to make Castiel understand.