Christ, what a long day, it reads. Dad didn’t keep a lot of stuff, but still.
Sometimes when he reads, there will be mention of ‘tone of voice’ or ‘the way a voice sounds.’ And it can leave him bitter, sometimes. He remembers sound occasionally. Simply, flatly. He can sometimes remember the way words felt inside of his ears instead of his eyes.
There’s also a tone to seen word, though, and there’s something instantly casual and easy to Dean’s words, to his voice typed out in electronic letters and spelled messily with his hands. As if Castiel has already been made part of the circle, part of the family.
He receives another message before he can respond- Can’t wait to get out of here. Dad and I didn’t quite get along and it’s...weird.
Castiel frowns a little, barely there. Cleaning your parents’ house after their death is very strange. I’m sorry you’re going through this. Is your brother helpful?
He waits in there for several minutes before washing his hands and going back out to tutoring.
Dean looks over at his brother, standing tall and pumping gas. He signs, You and Dad, did you ever figure that out? Anything?
There’s a long pause before Sam says, “It wasn’t really ever friendly, but it got better. He wasn’t cruel, towards the end there.”
Dean nods. He looks at Castiel’s question on his phone and types, Yeah.
He climbs back into the car, Sam in the passenger seat. He disconnects his implant and curls up into the door, napping while Dean plays music.
They drive back into the suburbs, getting in at about nine. Dean shoves his brother awake and heads inside, flicking on the lights and sitting down, heavily, on the couch.
He smells all wrong- smells like his Dad’s house.
He hates this smell. Smells like bared fists, spilled whiskey, dark woods, and fighting.
Sam shuffles in and says in his too-loud, unhearing voice, “Bed. See you in the morning.”
Dean nods and heads to his own bedroom where he pulls off his socks and shoes and looks at his phone in his hands. No response. No messages. He sighs, and wipes tiredly at his face.
It’s nine o’clock. Little early for a booty call, but what the hell.
I don’t know if you’re awake or not, he types, but I’d love some company. Have a little more room out in the ‘burbs if you want to make the drive.
He’s just given up, laying back on the bed, when his phone buzzes.
Castiel shakes as he hands the taxi driver the money. Shakes as he types into the phone, I’m here.
The house is larger than his apartment, but it’s still small. A low ranch house that clings to the ground, spread out. A tree in the front yard. This shining monstrosity of a car in the front.
The door opens and light pours out. Dean stands, silhouetted in the doorway.
He smiles and motions broadly for Castiel to come inside.
Inside, Dean smiles a little, strangely, and says, Come on, come meet my father.
