#imaginary!cas

            By the time he turns thirteen, Sam has outgrown his own imaginary friend phase. It comes quickly – one day Dean had casually asked his little brother to come eat dinner after he and Adam were done playing (if there was one thing Dean understood it was having your imaginary friend’s existence questioned, so he always made sure to acknowledge Adam’s existence) and all of a sudden Sam snapped at him.

            “I’m not playing with Adam, Dean!” He’d said, with all the anger and contempt an eight year old (going on nine in a few short months) could muster up. He’d looked at Dean like he had all the answers figured out, and Dean felt his own heart plummet – had Sam been abandoned, then, too? “Adam isn’t real. Imaginary friends are for kids, and I’m not a kid anymore.”

            Dean froze, not quite sure how to react. He knew, of course, that imaginary friends weren’t real, but to have it put so plainly by his younger brother made him realize how irrational his focus on Castiel really was. He could remember reaching out and touching Cas, could remember the silkiness of his tie and the sound of his voice…but he didn’t exist, just like Sam said? He didn’t exist, because no one else could see him and because he disappeared and because…

            “So, what, Adam left?” Dean asked, hoping against everything that maybe that’s the truth – maybe Adam, like Castiel, existed and then left, and maybe there’s some weird explanation in all of this that’ll make everything make sense.

            “He didn’t leave. He was never here to begin with – that’s what imaginary means, Dean. I made him up, like a game, ‘cept now I’m too big to play that dumb game anymore.”

            “Right,” Dean said, chewing his bottom lip and nodding in agreement. Maybe that was the answer. Just…pretending Castiel was nothing more than a game, that him leaving was actually a reflection of Dean growing up instead of Dean being abandoned. Maybe Sam had the right idea. It certainly couldn’t be worse than Dean’s ‘just hate him forever’ plan. “Yeah, well, since you’re all big now, come get the plates for dinner. We’re having mac and cheese.”

            That was the last time dean had a chance to bring up the topic of imaginary friends. Now, at 23, it just wasn’t one of those things you brought up in daily conversation – not when you didn’t have kids, anyway, and when all you did for a living was work to put your brother through college. At 23, Dean was already balancing taking care of his not-so-little brother (who insisted he didn’t need anyone to take care of him anymore, but that didn’t stop Dean from cooking whenever he could and making sure the kid had enough money to pay for clothes that actually fit after his stupid freak growth spurt and money for the ridiculously expensive textbooks he needed) along with taking care of their constantly drunk father and working his two jobs.

            Right now he was a full-time cop and part time mechanic, though the latter was a recent endeavor. Last year he’d been a part-time barista, and the year before that had seen him as a part-time cashier. The cashier gig hadn’t paid enough, though, and Dean had been too tired and didn’t smile enough to last long at the coffee shop. Bobby didn’t care if Dean smiled or not – his head was pretty much always hidden by the car he’s working on, anyway – and he was willing to let Dean work some crazy hours as long as he got all of his repairs done on time and right.

            Dad had gone off the deep end after mom died, and nothing anyone could say or do made him any better. There’d been a few times when Dean thought they were in the clear – when dad would stop drinking for a stint and swear that he was going to get his life back on track. He’d find a job at some sketchy dump of a place and he’d keep it for maybe a month or two before he’d fall back on his old ways and Dean would be left to support the family again. He’d learned how to take care of Sammy and how to keep child services off their back, and once he was old enough he started stealing food and doing small jobs for whatever cash he could scrounge up. They moved a lot and they stayed in whatever motel was cheapest, at least up until Dean could have an actually job and then they managed to get a small apartment with one bedroom and a ratty pull-out couch that they made into their home.

            Nearly 18 years later, and Cas was nothing more than a vague memory. Dean remembered Cas, of course he did, but it was getting easier and easier to shove those memories to the side and replace them with the stories he was told. Castiel was a childhood fantasy, just like Adam was to Sam. Castiel wasn’t real. Maybe Dean had wandered into the woods and gotten lost, and maybe he had slept under a tree or some bullshit like that, and maybe he really did just forget about all of it. Trauma or some crap, Dean didn’t care what it was called. The point is, it could have happened, and nowadays that was enough. It made a hell of a lot more sense than some partially invisible dude breaking into his home, stalking him, kidnapping him, and then some other dude showing up out of thin air and bringing him back home. And it hurt a lot less than thinking said invisible dude had just abandoned Dean, even after promising not to leave and saying that they were a family. Yeah. It was just a lot simpler to pass Castiel off as a fantasy, a fantasy that deep down Dean wasn’t so sure he hated anymore.

            And it’s not like he had a lot of time to really think about Cas, anyway. He had started making a point of not thinking about Cas after Sam and Adam, and now it was nearly second-nature. Pancakes weren’t weird to eat anymore and he didn’t jerk awake whenever he heard the whisper of the wind in the trees at night. On days like today, when his alarm had failed to go off so he’d missed out on grabbing his daily morning coffee before heading to the station, Castiel never crosses his mind. Days like today have been happening far too often, lately – Dean really needs a new alarm clock, the one he had had a plug and cord that needed to be positioned just right or the damn thing would come unplugged and Dean wouldn’t get a wake-up call. Sam had given him a bitch-face after the third time it happened and insisted that, really, it wouldn’t kill them to put some money towards something Dean actually needed instead of something Sam wanted. But Dean refused – they weren’t spending a lot on wants, anyway, nearly every cent went to things like rent and food and loans and school supplies. And with Sam not working (Dean’s wish, he wanted his little brother focused on school), money was tight and Dean really wasn’t sure if they could afford a new alarm clock.

            Today he’s out on the street, conflicted about his lack of coffee. On the one hand, he’s tired as hell. On the other, he’s standing by a lamppost and the sun is so hot he can feel his skin burning. He’s trying to find speeding cars for his partner to pull over, and by the first half-hour he’s sweaty and squinting. There’s no shade around, and he’s pretty envious that Benny gets to sit in the air conditioned car, waiting for Dean to give the signal and radio the exact car he should be going after. By now, four hours into his shift, they’ve pulled over six cars – enough to warrant taking an early lunch, Benny says, grimacing when he pats Dean on the back of his damp uniform.  

            They normally grab lunch together – there’s a little diner in town that makes the best damn apple pie Dean’s had since mom died, and their burgers are good enough for Benny to agree to making it their regular meeting spot. It probably helps that it’s not the normal cop hangout, either – that’s the diner across town, closer to the precinct and nearly always filled with off-duty cops. It’s not that they don’t like their coworkers, but sometimes it’s nice to go somewhere where they don’t know everyone, somewhere where work is out of sight and out of mind. Benny motions to go walk over to the place, considering it’s no longer than a five minute walk and the parking area is terrible, but Dean shakes his head.

            “Dude, you head on over. There’s no way I’m making anyone deal with this stench, not if I can help it. It’s fucking gross out here.” Benny nods and walks backwards on the sidewalk as he mock-salutes Dean.

            “Sure thing, partner. I’ll make sure to grab you a slice of pie, so long as you make sure to get your ass back here to pick me up.” Dean nods his agreement, grateful that Benny’s the kind of guy that doesn’t mind eating alone. His last partner, Aaron, had been annoying as hell to work with – he’d ask Dean to go to the cop diner every damn day, and he’d complain and act all hurt whenever Dean denied him or told him he had to work his other job. Aaron wasn’t a family guy, as he made clear time and time again, and after a few too many comments about how Dean should tell Sam to ‘start pulling his own damn weight and get a job or take a hike,’ Dean had put in a request to be reassigned. In the end, Aaron had actually ended up transferring – some family member had died and left him their house, and he’d decided to move up there. Dena couldn’t’ say he was sorry to see him go, not even when he was initially intimidated by his new partner. Benny had quickly proven himself to Dean, and by the end of their first day he was sold on the guy being a better partner than Aaron ever was. While tough out in the field, Benny was a teddy bear with friends, laid back and joking and honestly a breath of fresh air compared with all the other cops Dean had worked with.

He doesn't want to keep Benny waiting for long, even though he knows the guy wouldn't really mind taking a slightly longer lunch break, so he hurries through his shower and is back out the precinct in record time. His hair is damp and sticks to his forehead, but at least it's not sticky from sweat and he'd managed to change into his spare uniform so his clothes aren't tacky against his skin. It's enough to make him feel a hell of a lot better about the tedious start to his day, enough to make him whistle lightly as he goes down the stairs leading from the entrance of the precinct to the sidewalk.

            He's too busy thinking about his rumbling stomach and the hopefully still warm apple pie waiting for him across town to pay attention to where he's going, his eyes focused on the ground as he fishes around in his pocket for the keys to the car. He sees the shiny black shoes a split second too late, head turning up just in time for him to slam into the chest of a guy who'd been just standing on the street. Dean's first thought is irritation – who the fuck just stands in the middle of the sidewalk like that? Sure, yeah, he should have been paying better attention, but seriously? That was a dick thing to do – if you're gonna just stand there, at least move to the side or something, don't block the walkway while you're staring down at your phone or whatever.

He doesn't know how to describe his second thought – shock, maybe, or panic? No – not really, really it's more like a mild fear, as his eyes drift up and take in the dress pants and tan trench coat, the messed up tie that still sits crooked on his neck, even though Dean's hands haven't tugged at it for a good seventeen years. He takes a step back and tries to look away, to see if anyone else has noticed the appearance of what looks like Dean's childhood best friend. He can't seem to make himself do it, though, as if looking away from Castiel would make him up and disappear again. Not like it would matter, though, because really, it'd be better if Cas vanished again. Seeing Cas as a kid? That was just having a strong imagination. Seeing Cas now, as an adult? That was insanity. That was the kind of thing that would get Dean kicked off one of the few jobs he actually enjoyed doing, that would fuck up the entire life he'd been building for Sammy and send everything down the shitter.

“Dean,” Dean startles and tries to take another step back as the gruff voice confirms the fact that yes, this is actually Cas – not just some imposter, no, that's the same voice he still remembers singing him to sleep and promising to take care of him.

“The hell-” Dean chokes out, before finally making himself look away. No one's walked through Cas – in fact, people seem to be giving them a pretty wide girth. And considering the looks they're getting are irritation (probably for standing in the center of the sidewalk, something Dean had only just gotten angry about himself) instead of fear or worry, Dean's pretty sure that Cas isn't some figment of his imagination. Either that or people are irritated at the crazy man walking down the street, which, while not very compassionate, Dean could also kinda see as happening.

A hand grabs one of Dean's arms, tugging him forward. Dean tries to throw his weight backwards to prevent himself from moving forward, but the strength he remembers providing him with a security blanket is now being used against him, until Dean topples forward and hits Castiel's chest. Cas' arms encircle him, caging him in and pressing a little too hard against his back, a hug made weird due to its unreciprocated nature.

“Dean, little one-” Cas mumbles into Dean's hair, fingers clutching at his uniform desperately. Dean flushes as he realizes he's being hugged to some guy's chest not only out in public, but nearly directly in front of the precinct, too.

            “Not so little anymore, man,” Dean says as he tries to extract himself from Castiel's tight grip, “mind letting go?”

“What?” Castiel asks, grip tightening. Dean grunts in discomfort, the angle he'd been forced into when Cas grabbed him is both awkward and uncomfortable, his back hunched over and his head resting on Cas' shoulder, Cas' mouth pressed into his hair. He can only imagine the hell he's gonna get if some of his coworkers come out and spot him like this – Benny'd probably have a field day, if he wasn't across town, though that hardly means he won't hear about this before their shift is done. “You – you've never asked me to let go, little one, why would you-”

            “Seriously, man, fucking let go of me. And stop calling me 'little one,' Jesus, I'm taller than you now.”

            He can practically feel the disapproval radiating from Cas as his grip loosens until Dean can lift his head off of the man's shoulder. He can't move too far, Cas hands just relocate to grip his waist, his thumb rubbing circles against Dean's hipbone in a way that has him tensing and trying to back away.

            “What's gotten into you? It's me, Dean, Castiel. Your Cas.” Dean almost laughs – as if he could forget Cas. No, no matter how hard he tried he had the feeling he'd never forget his stupid imaginary friend. His mind sputters to a near halt. Imaginary friend – except apparently not so imaginary, because even though no one could see Cas before, it was pretty fucking obvious by the way some teenage girl had just eyed the guy up that he was anything but invisible now.

“You – you aren't real, though. I made you up. How is this-”

            “I assure you, little one, I am very real. You did not make me up.”

            “No one else could see you,” Dean points out, “but you seem pretty fucking visible now.”

            “It would not have been convenient for others to see me before. They would have tried to get in our way, as Gabriel did. Now, it is far more convenient to remain visible.”

            Dean blinks. Then, he lets his eyes stray down Cas' form again, trying to find some difference in the man before him and his childhood friend. There – there are none. It's been eighteen years, but Dean would swear on his badge that Cas hasn't aged a damn day – well, maybe there's a slightly older look to his eyes, a deep-seated exhaustion that seems to have faded slightly since Dean first crashed into him, but other than that? Cas hasn't aged. That’s – that's not fucking possible.

His hands move of their own accord, and before Dean knows it he's trying to pry Cas' fingers off of his hips. He swears he hears a clap of thunder, even though the day was sunny and clear, his suspicions confirmed when a few bystanders turn to stare worriedly at the sky, undoubtedly wondering if they'd made a mistake trusting the morning weather forecast.

            “Let go of me,” Dean repeats, when he finds he can't so much as shove a finger between Cas and his pants.

            “I don't understand,” Cas takes a step forward, ruining any semblance of distance Dean had managed to create, “It's me, don't you remember your Cas?”

            “Yeah, I fucking remember you,” Dean nearly shouts, managing to stop himself when a few people falter and turn to look at him, clearly expecting him to provide them with entertainment and a fun story to tell when they get home from their boring, dead-end jobs. Dean won't give them that much satisfaction, although he's pretty sure he and Cas have already made for a pretty interesting story. “Far as I'm concerned, though, you're not my Cas. My Cas-” Dean starts and stops, almost barreling through and saying that his Cas was imaginary, his Cas was just for him to see, but that's a level of crazy he doesn't want associated with him – and besides, he's got bigger things to address, “My Cas stopped being, well, mine, about eighteen years ago, when he up and vanished. You're just Castiel. And I would still really appreciate you fucking getting your hands off of me, because I've got places to be.”

            He started looking past Cas sometime around the start of his speech, staring steadfastly at the empty bit of sidewalk stretching along the side of the cramped buildings, where tiny blades of grass were starting to poke through the holes in the concrete. When he draws his attention back to Cas, he stiffens and stops his hands from trying to pry his fingers off of him.

            Cas' eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open, whether from shock or what Dean doesn't know. The hands on Dean's hips go lax, enough where Dean can shimmy his way out of Cas' hold and take a few steps back. Cas just stares at him, immobile and mouth still wide open – Dean almost wants to press his finger to the guy's jaw and push it up for him, but having just gotten away he doesn't really want to initiate contact with Cas again. Instead, he swallows and awkwardly feels around for his keys.

When Cas still doesn't say or do anything, just stares at Dean with this almost horrified expression, Dean mumbles a quick 'good to see you're, you know, alive, I guess, bye, man,' and stumbles towards his car, fumbling with the door a few times before finally succeeding in getting it open. The whole time he expects Cas to walk up behind him – he's not sure if he's relieved or upset that it doesn't happen, that he manages to get into the car without incident.

            By the time he's speeding over to Benny, he's managed to shake off some of the tension the encounter had left. He hadn't seen any cops walk by, which was good – maybe no one saw, and this would just be one more Cas-related thing that Dean would be able to brush aside and pretend was all in his head until, eventually, he forgot about it.