#deanketch

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It took a week for Ketch, Sam, and Castiel to catch up to Dean to stop him from his idiotic plan of self-sacrifice.

Back at the bunker, the four men sit in the library with dinner Dean made shortly after arriving home.

Dean was reeling from the plan not working and the giant bruise that was still on Ketch’s face that he caused.

He left it on purpose. Asshole. Or did Cas refuse to heal Ketch? Dean wondered to himself. He was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, arms crossed, and staring at his food. He wasn’t hungry. He made food to distract himself from the tension with everyone.

Ketch, however, was still getting used to Dean’s cooking and American palates in general. He nibbled at the pleasant meal, trying to appease the man who had his heart as he ignored the Angel across from him that is constantly trying to challenge him in front of Dean at every opportunity. The food was very good but he wasn’t sure if eating like Dean does would be a good idea with how his nerves have been for the last seven days.

He lifted his eyes, glaring at the Angel who refused to heal him saying Dean would only attack him if he thought it was necessary to complete the mission. Ketch challenged the Angel by inferring that Dean had done the same to him. Sam stepped in and Castiel disappeared for a while. That was nearly five days ago and the Angel still hasn’t offered to heal him.

Angels are dicks with wings. Ketch thought to himself. A barely there smile rose to his lips, remembering words that Dean had said to him. He lifted his head and looked at the side of Dean’s perfectly healed face, content that he was safe and sound. Knowing that will end again, the man cannot remain still to save his life.

“I’m not hungry,” Dean said, standing up and grabbing his plate, and sped walked to the kitchen before anyone could truly comprehend much. Castiel followed him and spoke in whispered tones Ketch couldn’t pick up.

Sam was reading a book as he ate, trying to ignore the tension and strain in the air. When Castiel left, Sam looked at Ketch with a sad smile and a heavy nod before closing his book. He quietly advised, “I’m gonna eat in my room. Let me know if you need anything, ok, Arthur?” Ketch gave a small smile and silently nodded.

Arthur leaned back and crossed his arms, staring at his place of partially eaten food. He could feel the tension in his shoulders developing a migraine. With a heavy sigh, he slowly stood up took his plate, and walked around grabbing the angel’s plate.

Why does Dean make him food when he doesn’t need to eat? Arthur wondered.

He didn’t expect to find Castiel in the kitchen still quietly talking with Dean. The two men fell silent as he placed the untouched plate on the counter and his plate in the sink as instructed before. “I’m going to turn in. Good night, Dean. Castiel.” He turned and headed for his separate room, certain Dean would not want him as his bedfellow after this past week.

Dean called out, “Good night, Ketch.”

His chest ached. Dean only called him Ketch when he was working or being impersonal, like when they were fighting. He missed Dean calling him his name. He missed how Dean would lie on top of him, running his fingers through his hair and pecking chaste kisses on his lips. Arthur would always have a dopey grin on his face, as Dean has now said several times, while he looked into Dean’s beautiful green eyes.

He wanted his Dean back, not the hunter, the legacy, the Michael sword. No, just the man, Dean Winchester—his Dean. With a heavy sigh, he went into his temporary room and gathered his toiletries to shower.

When Arthur returned to his room, he was surprised to find his door open and Dean changed into a t-shirt and pajama pants on his bed.

“What do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Arthur inquired.

“We need to talk,” Dean explained before patting the bed next to him. Arthur’s stomach dropped to the floor as he worked to keep his composure. This was the end of whatever it was they were.

“I don’t feel like sitting, Winchester,” Arthur Informed as he walked over to the wardrobe and hung his bathing robe, making sure to avoid Dean’s gaze. “Yes, yes,” he waved at Dean behind him. “This is over. Have fun with your angel. Thank you for taking into consideration my feelings but it isn’t necessary. I’m—“

“Arthur, are you breaking up with me?” Dean accused, voice high pitched and eyes wide

He spun around, brows furrowed, and frowned. “You’re breaking up with me.”

Dean stood at the statement and walked over to the former British man of letters. “I’m not. Why would I?”

“You said ‘we need to talk’. Isn’t that the typical phrasing Americans use to prepare their partner for a break?” Arthur insisted.

Dean squinted his eyes, and tilted his head with a heavy sigh as he examined the Brit’s face.“I came to apologize.” Arthur’s eyes widened and scoffed. Dean furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.

“Dean Winchester apologizing to me. Whatever for?” Arthur crossed his arms and stood with his back to the opened wardrobe dressed in only satin pajama pants as he kept his eyes on the hunter before him.

Dean took a small step and pressed his clothes chest against Arthur’s bare chest, wrapping his arms around his neck, and lightly scratching his scalp. His green eyes stared into Arthur’s hazel eyes. “I fucked up, man. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you.” His hand slowly, gently caressed Arthur’s bruised face as if he were made of china. He hissed at Dean’s touch, the bruising still containing blotches of purple that had become yellow and green around the edges. “Let me get Cas to heal you.”

“No,” Arthur commanded. “It’s fine.” He spoke slowly and assuredly to ease his hunter’s guilt. He didn’t want the angel to cause any more damage Arthur couldn't potentially undo.

“It’s not,” Dean countered, upset that his partner was being neglected by his best friend. “He’s being a dick to you and I don’t get why.”

“Dean,” Arthur cooed, too tired and achy to get into the obvious cockblock and saboteur the angel is trying to be. One hand rested on Dean’s soft pj-clad hip and the other rose to cup his jaw. “You can be so naive sometimes.”

“Says the man who forgets that he is one of the few people who can take me on in hand-to-hand combat and win,” teased Dean.

“So, that’s why the chair,” Arthur commented.

“Concussion?” Dean asked, frowning and avoiding eye contact with Arthur for a few moments. Dean knows he’s kept on hunting with just as bad if not worse.

“I’m fine, darling.” Arthur caressed his face and cupped his cheek before placing a chaste kiss on the hunter’s lips.

Dean returned the chaste kiss before pulling away. “I can’t do this anymore.” He turned and yelled, “CAS!” The angel appeared with a rough, “What’s the matter, Dean? Are you hurt?”

Dean glared at the angel and held his hand out towards Arthur. “C’mon, buddy, please heal Arthur.”

With a scoff and frown, Castiel walked over to Arthur and touched his forehead with a single finger before fluttering off. Arthur’s eyes fluttered and stared toward Dean as his eyesight returned to normal after the blinding blue-white light from Castiel.