The furrow of frustration in Casâs brow has been getting way too familiar recently. So has the hot throb in Dean's head from getting wacked, contrasted by the frozen peas Cas has pressed up behind his ear. Monsters seem to be targeting his skull lately; maybe an order went out with the start of the Apocalypse - make sure to bash the rightoeus man's brains in and you'll get an extra share of liver at the human buffet at the end of the world. So, his head hurts, and Bobby's kitchen chair is digging into his back, and he's fighting a losing battle against the combined forces of Heaven, Hell and every nasty son of a bitch who hitched their wagon to either side, and still Castiel is making out like he's the hard-done one here.
"If you'd just let me heal you," Cas says, for what feels like the thousandth time this month, "we could get back to researching how to save the world with the others. I was under the impression that was important to you."
"Yeah, well, not bleeding out on the battlefield because you never learned how to do it the slow way is also freaking important to me," Dean snarks back, his hands steady and eyes squinted as he threads the surgical needle Bobby keeps relatively sterile in his first aid kit with dental floss. "No guarantees you'll be all fairy-dusted up in the end, Tink."
The disgruntled expression on Casâs face at that comment as he snatches the threaded needle is almost worth the pain to come. "The fairy skillset is not compatible with combat environments. They are tricksters, not soldiers."
"Oh, yeah, Sugar Plum would be shaking in her boots to see you, tough guy," Dean returns sarcastically, and his eye-roll a mistake: it sets off an echo of his headache behind his eyes for a few beats.
"Thank you," Cas says seriously, either missing or ignoring the brattiness.There's a few taps on the crinkly bag of peas, and they switch hands on the makeshift ice-pack, fingers brushing from the practiced motion. Bobby remains too tight to buy medical-grade anything that he can't substitute from the grocery store.
Casâs cold hand on Dean's cheek carefully adjusts Dean's head position so he can better see the gash at his hairline in the overhead light. Dean ends up eye-level with the open top button of Casâs shirt, his tie loose over Dean's lap as he leans over him.
"If you were a chick I'd totally be staring down your shirt right now," Dean says, to be annoying, and grins when he gets a long-suffering "Dean" in response.
It's only a little distraction against the scrape of the needle through his skin, and, worse, the thread pulling through. He makes the mistake of hissing through his teeth when Cas pulls too fast, then catches the tell-tale thread of numbness chasing the pain.
"Cas," Dean warns, and Cas sighs heavily, the sting coming back in full force as he retracts his grace.
"I wish you'd let me provide pain relief, at the very least." His voice is coloured with regret, and a glance up at his mouth shows off a moue of discontent. The urge to hug him has been spiking more and more these days, but Dean restrains himself, not least because Cas has a needle stuck through his head.
"This is how it's gonna be out there, this is how you've gotta practice," Dean reminds them both, even though he'd also quite like the anaesthetic. Cas is mostly good at it, a little impatient at times but he doesn't hesitate and leaves neat stitches - Dean wouldn't let him at his face otherwise - but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
"It is discomforting when you are in pain," Cas says, quiet and overly serious, clueing Dean in that this is a confession. God, those angels really screwed Cas up.
"Aww, you really do care," Dean teases, because being a dick is how he shows affection, but it doesn't lighten Casâs mood. "Don't sweat it, Cas, it's not like I'm not used to it."
Casâs mouth flattens even further. "That isn't a comforting statement."
"Yeah, well, the truth is never pretty. Lies, now that's where you get the hot stuff."
"Are you sure?" He pauses his work to make deep eye contact, pushing Dean's heart-rate up. "Between us, I have found the truth to be quite beautiful."
Dean doesn't know what to say to that level of sincerity. For all the times Cas has put him here, on the back foot against searing trust, he still never manages to evade it. He can admit to himself, he kind of doesn't want to. But with the Apocalypse looming, and his family in the next room, and the ever-present weight of his own self-hatred, he can't admit anything else. A trickle of melted ice slides slowly down the side of his face.
He clears his throat. Swallows.
"Finish the job," is all he manages to say, the only thing he could think of that would neither be a lie nor break him open.
There's no hesitation in Cas resuming his task, and no indication thar he's disappointed with Dean's answer. Still, Dean feels a little guilt for not meeting Casâs call for connection, so, trying not to make it look like he's thought too hard about it, he reaches out and holds onto the dangling end of Casâs tie. Cas doesn't comment, but when Dean flicks his eyes up to his face, he sees the small turn of a smile.
Dean might not be ready to say honesty is beautiful, but, well, he can't deny, it's more than a little cute.
