unorganized mess

when i look in the mirror i see someone who has blood on his hands. i see someone who tries to help people. i see someone who has caused almost as much pain as he’s prevented. i see someone who hates who he sees. i have people who love me. i know they are too good for me. they will leave me. they will be taken from me. my heart has been through it too many times, and it has hardened because of it. i push people away. i hurt them before they hurt me. i leave destruction in my wake. and yet my heart still has it’s weak points. the hard exterior is fragile, and i’ve had to rebuild it more times than i can count. this is when i wish i was more like my father. he built a wall around his heart that was indestructible, lord knows i tried my best to topple it down. i never could. i think i might be kinder than him. he would say i was weaker than him. i’m not sure which i believe. my heart’s broken walls let in the pain, but they also let in the love. and in those brief, beautiful moments, i wonder why i protected my heart in the first place. but then the pain comes again. it always comes again. it washes over me and fills every part of me and it is worse because i let myself go unguarded. it is my fault, because i foolishly let myself hope, which is always my worst mistake. and then i am cold. i am cruel. i am indistinguishable from those i hunt. 

i dream of death more than i dare to admit. i do not want to say it out loud. i do not want the worried glances. i do not want the heartfelt talks. i will not take the easy way out. i drink, i eat what i want, i do not sleep. i am reckless. i drink because it dulls the pain (and damages my liver). i eat what i want because it is what i never got when i was a child (and it damages my heart). i do not sleep because my dreams are full of the memories that haunt me (and it weakens my body). i am reckless because i care more about the hunt than my safety (and maybe because i don’t mind if something goes wrong. at least i’ll go out as a hero and not a coward.) but there are times where i do want to live. where i want to have all the things i never got to have. where i can take a breath. where i can have a moment of peace with those i love by my side. it does not feel realistic. but in the moments where my heart is unguarded, that’s what i think of. that is the foolish, naive dream my heart longs for. that dream is a weapon that has hurt me more often than any monster, knife, or gun. and still the cycle repeats and the cracks in my heart’s armor let it creep through, destined to both save me and kill me once again. 

- honey for my honey

- ice cream for movie date night

- flour... actually also some flowers for the kitchen, something yellow because yellow flowers make you smile and i utterly adore your smile

- coffee grounds (please? so i can kiss you good morning without you calling me an angry bear)

- some pie to share with my sweetiepie

- popcorn (see above for movie date night where i plan to cuddle and kiss you silly)

- laundry detergent so i can wash your trenchcoat (yes, cas, sometimes it needs washing, i promise i wont dye it pink... or well... you would look good in pink, really really good)

And every time, without fail, the last thing dean puts on cas' shopping list every single week:

word count: 967 ; tags: angst

“Are you worried?” Dean asks, and before he asks he knows that yes, Cas is, and no, he won’t say so. So when Cas nods, he is surprised.

“Jack’s gonna be okay, Cas.”

“Cas.” Cas won’t meet his eye, keeps looking at his palms, as if they hold some answer to some question. Dean lets him be. They’re used to this.

Without looking up, Cas asks, quietly, “Do you forgive him?”

Dean doesn’t know how to answer him. Or what, for that matter. So he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up from his chair. “C’mon. I gotta show you something.” When Cas doesn’t get up, Dean tugs at his arm. Cas gets up with a sigh, and Dean leads them to his room.

From his drawer, he takes out a paper. Hands it to Cas without a word. It’s a paragraph, written in pencil. Some letters are topsy turvy, some Bs are D; some Cs are K, some S. Cas smiles. Dean looks away and whispers, “And I was so happy that I cried in my room. But Dean said I was his family. And today he let me drive Baby. I love Baby a lot. I hope one day Me and Cas and Sam and Dean and Rowena and my mom can go in baby and Dean lets me drive.”

When he looks back, Cas is looking at him, all warm blue eyes that could melt Dean.

“He’s family, Cas.”

Cas swallows. Opens his palms again.

Dean sits him on the bed and sits beside him, their thighs touching but not quite. “Talk to me.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Cas- of course, I do.” Dean rubs his face furiously. “‘I thought you heard me in purgatory. You said you did.”

“I did.”

“Then what is this about?”

Cas says nothing.

“I do Cas. It wasn’t even your fault. I was just,” Dean huffs. “being a douche.”

Cas places a hand over his elbow. “Still. I’m sorry about Mary.” Dean looks at him, and he holds his gaze, and suddenly Dean wants to be selfish. Dean wants to ruins Cas’ life and lose his best friend and just put a stop to all the pretenses. Dean wants, Dean wants Cas. as much as he can fit, but for now, a promise will do. At most, a kiss, perhaps.

Dean closes his eyes, and Cas exhales a Dean. Then a louder, stern “Dean.”

Dean inhales. Takes the hand on his elbow in his hand, squeezes their fingers together. “I’m not- you know I’m bad at words, Cas. You have to do it.” He doesn’t know what he wants Cas to do, just knows that he wants and only Cas can help him. Just knows that Cas knows what he’s asking for.

“I need you to tell me Cas. We may not have....time after this. This...this thing with Chuck...I don't think- this might be it.” Dean tries. He tries to tell Cas.

Cas reaches for his other arm, holds his other wrist. “No, Dean. I-”

Dean shakes his head, squeezes his eyes. “No. You listen to me. Listen. We- don't get many things. But the things we have, the things we do have...sometimes. Sometimes I think I don't have them, not really. they are just there...and the moment I reach out they'll be gone. They'll be taken away from me.”

He stops when he sees a fat drop on Cas’ eyelashes. When he feels his own eyes tear up, he squeezes their hands again, not as much for Cas as for himself.

“So. I'm just saying...I want to have Cas. Hell, if it was up to me I’d lock you and Sam and Jack in a room and go take on Chuck myself.”

Cas stiffens at that. “No, Dean.”

Dean chuckles. There’s no humor, none. He continues. “Yeah. Yeah. But I don't have no hope left, Cas. So I just- I need you to tell me. I want you to tell me.”

His own cheeks are warm now, streaked with a single tear, but Cas reaches out and wipes Dean’s face with his fingers. Uncertainly, but with a hell lot of love. Dean waits for him to say something. Say something or push him away. Cas does neither. He keeps running his fingers on Dean’s cheekbone.

Dean shivers, and laughs. His voice is hoarse now, choking. He mutters a fuck under his breath. “Fuck. I know I don't- deserve it, but I- please Cas. Tell me I got ya.”

Cas tightens his grip on his wrist and cups his face. “You got me Dean.”

The words sting, and it’s a nice burn. Cas repeats, “You got me.” The dam breaks again, and Dean wipes his nose on his sleeve. Throws his head on Cas shoulder, “Tell me I can have you, Cas.”

Cas simply tightens his arm around him, holding him in an awkward hug.

Into his shoulder, Dean pleads. “Cas. Please. Tell me I can have you. Tell me it's gonna be okay.”

“It's gonna be okay.” Cas cups his chin. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean does, opening his bloodshot eyes. Cas looks at him, and promises him. “it's gonna be okay, Dean.”

Dean chokes on a sob. “And. And I can-” Another sob. “Can I have you?”

And the way Cas looks at him, Dean knows the answer. Knows what Cas is going to say, and he agrees, he really does, but he hates it too. Hates it so much. Wipes his face, tears and snot on his sleeve again, and drops his head to Cas’ shoulder.

Cas’ body shakes with the breath he takes. “I’m sorry, Dean. I'm so- I'm sorry.”