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„I just don’t know how to tell her.“
Dean stared at the pictures in his lap. He still tried to fit the new puzzle pieces he learned about his mom into the frame made out of memories, hear-say and wishful thinking that had formed the concept of mom until yesterday.
Cas sat on the floor opposite him. His arms rested on his knees, hands clasped. He took this seriously, maybe too much so in his drive to be there for Dean in whichever way he was needed.
Dean shook his head to clear his hazy thoughts. “She seems so happy whenever she talks about John. It would be cruel to take that away from her.”
“She wants to get to know you. And as far as I can tell that includes telling your life story in some form or other.” Cas’ tone made it clear that he was guessing here, but Dean was okay with that. He just needed Cas to listen. Saying this stuff out loud helped him sorting through it, just like going through the pictures of the past anchored his memories.
“Yeah, I already slipped up on that one. Told her about Sam and me and how he got out of the life. Pretty sure she noticed me leaving out John in that story.” Dean reached for another beer and lined the last one up with two other empty bottles.
“And it’s more than just a reflex to protect her.” Look at Dean Winchester analyzing his fucked-up brain, he thought. “When she told me about her dreams – I wanted to hear all those stories.” There was this perverse pleasure in hearing how much John had loved his boys, how he played with them and made them the center of his world. Dean had only vague memories of that, polluted with everything that came later.
“That must be hard for you,” Cas offered, not quite a question. Dean had to smile. His best friend really sucked at this, but it felt good to have him here. Their eyes met over the few feet of dimly lit kitchen floor that seperated them.
He couldn’t talk about this with Sam – all this was still so new and Dean didn’t want to open wounds that had barely scabbed over in the past years. Sam came from an entirely different place and it would be selfish to drag him into this. So Cas it was. And even if he didn’t understand half the things Dean said, he cared and hey, he was here, wasn’t he, sitting in the dark with a sentimental drunk.
The rustling of the trench coat made Dean look up. He must have fallen asleep. Groping around he realized that he lay in his bed.
“Dude, did you carry me here?”
“You were tired. I didn’t want to wake you up. But you should consider not falling asleep on the floor. Your back isn’t taking it well.” Cas’ deep voice was full of concern and carried that tone of admonishment that would make Dean’s hackles rise if he wasn’t so exhausted. His eyelids scraped like sandpaper over his corneas when he blinked.
“Thanks, Cas,” he mumbled dryly. “You stayin’?” If you had asked him the next day Dean would swear he had meant at the bunker. But right now, when Cas sank down in the chair next to Dean’s bed, he didn’t protest. Just closed his eyes and fell asleep to dream of warm pies, the smile of his mother and a pastel colored past.