spnfic: it's the stars that lie, 9/12

Title: It's the Stars that Lie, 9/12
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 2
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Summary: We fight, we lose, everyone dies anyway, I know. However, I don’t see why, if we're going to fight anyway, we shouldn't believe we're going to win.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and obscureraison for beta services, with advice from lillian13, scynneh, and norabombay.
Thanks to bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

Series Links:
AO3 - Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World

Story Links:
AO3 - All, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
DW - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8



--Day 94, continued--

Castiel wakes up with a start, vaguely aware of something very wrong.

Frowning, he begins to move and freezes at the dull throbbing emanating from his right arm beneath the heavy gloss coating every movement as well as clear thought. Turning his head, he looks at the neat bandage peeking out from beneath the faded green sleeve of his t-shirt, then at a tray nearby, where two empty needles are lying along with a small pile of bloody gauze and a glimpse of metal instruments beneath. That they're related is probable, but at the moment how eludes him.

That's unsettling, he reflects uncertainly as he starts to sit up, ignoring the wave of dizziness but his arm doesn't quite want to hold his weight, the throbbing increasing dramatically. Before he can do more than catch his breath, a hand touches his chin, reassurance and warning both; Vera always did that when she wanted to avoid startling him when she was treating him, but he's almost certain that's not Vera.

"There we go," he hears a familiar voice murmur. "Cas, it's a hospital bed; it inclines. Just relax and I'll raise it for you."

Castiel squints, waiting impatiently for his vision to clear, as the bed, with a low metal groan and the sound of protesting gears, begins to rise. By the time he's semi-upright, the infirmary comes into almost painful focus, but panic is immediately eased by the sight of Alicia's head popping into his line of sight, brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and expression worried.

"You tracking yet?" she asks, peering at him hopefully. He nods, willing to indulge in reckless optimism in the hope it might eventually be true. "Sorry, I thought I had a little more time before you woke up. How are you feeling? Still fuzzy?"

"I'm fine," he says automatically, making the connection from the needles: morphine, that explains it. "How much did you give me?"

"Vera left me instructions," she assures him, still looking worried. He closes his eyes, feeling the glaze beginning to burn off, and the events at the ad-hoc shooting range slam into him all at once. Before he can do more than try to sit up again, Alicia shoves him back down with more strength than he would have expected and unexpected care for his injured arm. "She said your reaction was shitty on the come-down. In order: you're in the infirmary, your shoulder's fine, Dean's fine, he'll be back in a few and he said to tell you to practice your human skills, this is a test and you'd better pass or you have to do it again." He just avoids a sigh: Dean probably smirked when he said it, too. "I have another local for your arm if you don't want another hit."

He licks his lips, nodding quickly; the dull heat is blooming into pain at an exponential rate. Alicia circles the bed, reaching out to rest a hand on the top of his shoulder briefly, but even that light touch is almost too much. He swallows at the push of the needle followed by another flare of pain.

"That bullet hit a nerve or five, I think." Stepping back, she meets his eyes. "Thirty seconds, Cas."

It feels like longer, but eventually, a spreading chill washes down his arm, the pain slipping beneath it more with every second that passes until it's an undifferentiated mass of vague numbness and residual throbbing.

"Better?" she asks with a tentative smile that widens into relief when he nods. "She left me her notes on the right doses to give you, but if you want to check--"

"She kept accurate records," he interrupts, trying and failing to work out how Alicia could have gotten them. It's very obvious, he's sure. "Where's Dean?"

"He's fine," Alicia answers soothingly, scooping up the used needles and debris and depositing them in the trash before stripping off her gloves and adding them as well. Grabbing a stool, she returns to the other side of the bed and sits down. "Bullet took a downward angle and the scenic route, but it's just a very deep graze, that's all. Don't worry; Dean watched me while I checked you and stitched you up." Her expression is suddenly eerily reminiscent of Vera's. "Follow your doctor's instructions--hey, that's my new title, who needs medical school when you got EMT training back when?--and it should heal fine and my report will mention you were a good patient." Castiel nods, scanning her for any potential injuries or any restrictions in movement that indicate deep bruising. She frowns at him and glances down at herself. "What?"

"Did I hurt…." Too late, he cuts off the words; opiates never fail to utterly wreck his focus. "I apologize--"

"I'm fine," Alicia interrupts in a strange voice. "Cyn nearly gave me a black eye when I was setting her ankle, and that was after I shot her up. You were mostly unconscious."

Mostly. "How long--"

"It's just after seven Chitaqua time," she says, crossing her legs and settling in her seat. "Sarah's team went to get the body and we did a clean burn at dusk after I checked it over. He wasn't carrying ID, no surprise, but Chuck got a picture of him, in case…." She trails off, mouth tight. "If we get that trade agreement, maybe we can get the word out, find out who he was, if he had family."

Castiel nods, groping for another topic, then realizes he forgot ask something. "That bullet was fired from close range. How--"

"Right, what the hell was that? Was he trying to hit you or the tree?" She raises her eyebrows at his lack of surprise. "Don't tell me: didn't even mean to shoot. Always the amateurs. Anyway, Kat examined the body for any other weapons before they brought it to me and nothing. His gun didn't even have a full clip. It's like…."

"He counted on being disarmed and brought here for questioning."

"That's what I thought." Alicia nods grimly before abruptly balancing a foot against the bed, boot brushing his hip when he starts to get up. "Not so fast, Cas."

"The morphine has been sufficiently metabolized--"

"Yeah, and one, you need a sling before you leave--"

Castiel grits his teeth impatiently. "Then give me one."

"--and two, there was dried blood smeared on those bullets still in the clip and in the barrel of the gun. I sampled and confirmed what it was before bagging it. Sarah's team escorted Zoe and Kat to get the two out of the tree so I could compare; there were still traces on it, too. That shit stuck, which is different, gotta tell you." He stills at Alicia's serious expression. "What would demon blood do to you now?"

He's not sure what he expected to hear, but it wasn't that. "As I've never been shot with something coated with it, I don't know." He looks at his bandaged arm suspiciously, hazy memories of the jeep ride back and arriving at the infirmary glazed with agony beginning to surface, with a vague sense of Dean's voice asking him questions and not hesitating to shout them if he didn't answer.

"Cas, I've seen you keep fighting in the field while bleeding out from claw wounds an inch deep," she says. "Dean said you passed out when he was getting you to the jeep. Andy and Matt carried you in and said you were in and out--and in case this needs saying, not quietly--and you were out cold when your shoulder hit the bed. I can guess what hits your threshold, and this shouldn't even make the vague frown stage."

"We could hypothesize then that demon blood causes a great deal of pain." Alicia looks at him incredulously. "I assume you cleaned the wound thoroughly."

"Oh yeah," she confirms. "Dean's going to handle observation tonight--God knows he has more experience than I do--but I'll be by to check those stitches in the morning and we'll trade off for the next few days, see if anything else shows up."

"That's unnecessary," he answers, but Alicia's raised eyebrows indicate dissatisfaction with that answer. "Nothing."

Alicia looks at him for several long moments. "Yeah, okay. Let me find a sling, I saw one--" She starts to get up, mouth tight. "In the closet, give me a second."

Bewildered, he watches her almost stalk to the other side of the infirmary, opening cabinet after cabinet with unnecessary force, a barely audible litany of mumbled words following her until she pauses to grab something off one of the half-empty shelves. Returning with wad of faded black material trailing frayed straps, she tosses it on his lap, expression set.

"You want to wait for Dean to get back to help you get it on?" she asks acidly, dropping on the stool and crossing her arms across her chest.

"I suppose." He gingerly picks it up, taking the time to smooth it out against his knees and study the clasps for wear, aware of Alicia's glare and failing to understand what inspired it. "Or I could do it myself, if you could--"

"You heard the part about Vera telling me how to treat you if you're injured?" she bursts out. Startled, he identifies the hurt beneath the anger. "She and Dean called me in before she left to talk about--if anything happened. She left her records with Dean, told me to get them if I needed them."

"Dean has my medical records?" To think he told Vera--sober and clean, no less--she could do as she liked if she insisted on treating him.

"Yeah," she says flatly.

This is going well. "You're upset."

"You think?" Alicia's eyes narrow. "Look, you want to wait for Vera, fine, but if something happens and I need to treat you--"

"What--"

"--you might also remember this isn't my first time treating you, just first officially," she finishes on a breath, and yes, he does remember that. "I need to know what's going on with you to do that. Specifically that."

"The demon blood?" The faint, uncomfortable throb from his arm--despite the local--combined with Alicia's pointed stare at the bandage, confirms his supposition. Especially since that now that the morphine has worn off, he realizes the pain isn't actually in his arm, and more importantly, it's getting stronger. "I don't know. It may be affecting the overlap between my physical body and my true form. Which is why--I passed out?" He does remember that, yes.

"A couple of times," she tells him grudgingly. "So it--hurts your true form? Wait, is that why you're getting twitchy?" She's on her feet and circling the bed, reaching out automatically but pausing before she touches the bandage. "You shouldn't even be able to feel your arm right now, Cas."

"That would be because, technically speaking, the nerves are just a convenient method of conveyance," he answers distractedly, gritting his teeth as the throb blossoms into active pain. He should have realized something like this was possible after his success with the branding iron and holy oil: how typical. "I wonder why--" Another flare, very sharp, not unlike molten lava, "--no one thought to try this before?"

Alicia hovers beside him, looking longingly between him and their drug supply, but a flood of pain drowns everything out in endless waves for some time. Eventually--slowly--it begins to subside, eventually retreating into something almost bearable. He hopes desperately he's at least being quiet during this; humans find screaming both unpleasant and highly unsettling, and doubtless Alicia can hear it outside even through the closed door of the infirmary.

"….should have fucking purified it; Joe's got about a dozen or so rituals," Alicia is saying angrily, and he's belatedly aware of not only her continued presence but her hand pressed firmly to his other shoulder, fingers curving tightly over the bone and squeezing rhythmically. "Deep breath, Cas; that color is shit on anyone. You tracking yet? Want me to send someone to get Dean now?"

"No." Yes, very much, now. There's absolutely nothing he can do, which is immaterial; he wants Dean. "No. I think….it's wearing off." To his surprise, it actually is. Concentrating, he can feel the slow diminishment like endlessly receding waves. If it's been doing this since he was wounded…. "How much morphine did you give me?"

"A lot," she confirms, frowning at him before grabbing her stool and dragging it right beside the bed. "No worries there. We may starve to death, but we can do it in a group morphine haze for weeks from what we got from the military. Want to try that now?"

He shakes his head, though actually yes, he would, very much. "It was always a trade priority." Dean's comments on living standards in Chitaqua have merit, but Castiel could have told him that in some things, they didn't compromise. One of those was the best possible medical care they could accomplish in the camp's conditions and they were well supplied with every opiate in existence.

"Gotta love Darryl," Alicia says acidly, a flicker of something darker in her voice. "Stoned to his balls and hands like a goddamn rock. Look at me, I wanna check your pupils. It'll make me feel better."

While the camp's doctor wasn't one of Castiel's favorite people, he worked as a surgeon before the Croatoan epidemic killed his wife and children as well as most of the hospital where it was being contained, and he was very good at his job. His endless demands from the military were the reason Vera was able to keep Dean alive and find a successful treatment for the infection from among their stock. That the doctor was also a morphine addict was a bonus; it assured he was both professionally and personally motivated to assure they never ran out.

"No morphine," he says finally, trying not to wince. "I need to be conscious to study it."

"The pain?" she says doubtfully.

"New pain," he explains. "Very new and unsettling--"

"And painful," she interrupts, as if she thinks that part is unclear. "Made it through a local and you look like a vivisection might be more fun."

"And new," he replies doggedly. "If this is to become a regular occurrence in the field, I'd like to know more about it than 'new' and 'painful'."

"For the record, I disapprove of pain in all its forms. And so I shall explain." Belatedly, he realizes Alicia is flipping through a folder distractedly, pen between her teeth, before making a triumphant sound. Taking out a sheet, she leans over, bracing it on the bed and makes a note at the top before beginning to write. "Patient is saying no to morphine despite agonizing pain and did not deny a vivisection would have been better. Doctor's note: may be the first time in Chitaqua's history, and maybe the world's. Doctor is pissed, and will tell Dean all about it, in detail."

"What," he asks in bewilderment, "are you doing?"

"Updating your records," she answers, pen hovering over the paper hopefully. "Okay, would you call this an allergy, a sensitivity, or an interaction?"

"I'm not sure." Now he's curious. "Let me see."

"Would Vera be okay with that?" she asks before sliding the stool up to the head of the bed and bracing the folder on her knee so he can read over her shoulder. "This is the cheat sheet," she confides, tilting it so he can see Vera's meticulous print marching across the three pages and half of the fourth before Alicia's handwriting begins. "Well, page five of cheat sheets in the cheat folder. I'm supposed to make my notes here because if I touch her records, she'll kill me. The first two pages are where to find anything and what to do if you get injured with list of common injuries. Which is, must say, an impressive goddamn list. I didn't even know you could dislocate that," she adds, flipping to the page and looking at what is a truly appalling list before flipping back to her notes. "Commonly, even."

Fascinated, Castiel scans up the page and starts when he was brought into the infirmary--somewhat conscious, somewhat not, that sounds right--and then--

"I didn't whimper," he says stiffly.

"Gasped, maybe," Alicia allows, going back up and marking out the word before sketching 'gasped' just above it. "Better?"

"No." There are an uncomfortable number of morphine shots--general anesthesia was a risk even when their doctor was still alive, something he only did when there was no other option, and Vera never attempted it with him at all--as well as the (comparatively) more reasonable locals. His pain tolerance is extremely high, and when learning to use this body, it was among the easiest--and least ambiguous--to identify and isolate, making repressing it easy (if only that worked with lust; the human body is baffling in its inconsistencies). None of what he's reading, however, makes him less uneasy regarding the time between Dean putting him in the jeep and when he woke up; that is a great deal of missing time and exposure to many people with an unknown number of injuries. Surely if any were serious, they'd be here with him and Alicia would be sitting at a safe minimum ten foot distance. "I didn't--did you use restraints?"

"When we were working on you?" she asks in bewilderment. "Uh, no. Not that we have any you wouldn't tear through without noticing. I put you on a fentanyl drip to twilight you while we worked--Darryl taught me that much and Dean could keep watch while I worked when I told him what to look for--but that was for pain control. It seemed to be working." Her expression darkens as Castiel winces, the throbbing beginning to return. "So that's why you were knocked out; demon's blood was hitting your pain threshold like the fist of a sadistic demon. We probably made it worse messing around in there and keeping you out of it in the process."

Castiel closes his eyes as the throbbing increases, trying to brace himself and perhaps continue not to scream; it's a worthy goal.

"Starting again?" He doesn't hear anything after that, breathing shallowly for the endless time it takes to pass as the waves build to an agonizing climax before their slow recession; even so, he can feel Alicia's hand come to rest on his shoulder, long fingers reassuring in their presence, the passing seconds marked by each tight squeeze. Eventually, the vague, indistinct sound of her voice penetrates as well, slowly forming words he can almost understand.

Even so, it's definitely better than the last time. If it was once worse--much worse--it's probable it was safe to be around him if he was repeatedly being rendered unconscious by dint of overwhelming pain.

What horrific good fortune; anything less, he might have accidentally killed her and several other people while insensible.

When he opens his eyes, Alicia's looking at him, mouth tight. "Better?" He nods, and she lets go, making another note. "Five minutes from when I first asked to now. Last one was about five and a half minutes or so, and ten, twelve minutes between them hitting you. Marking the time now."

"Thank you." He peers down at her notes again; he may be able to use them for more exact calculations later. With any luck, Jeffrey's bullets were an experiment. As Jeffrey was already gone before it became disabling, whoever designed it may assume it didn't work. He isn't that lucky, of course; this will happen again, at the worst possible time, and without a doubt will involve half a dozen bullets and all in difficult to reach places requiring extensive digging about.

Watching her reading over her notes, he remembers something else. "Why were you so upset?"

"Huh?"

He hesitates. "When you thought--I was concealing information about the demon blood from you."

She looks up, an odd expression crosses her face. "That." Capping the pen, she slides it behind her ear, focusing on something over his shoulder. "You know Darryl was a dick to everyone except the team leaders, right?"

He didn't, actually. "No, but what does that have to do with--"

"I mean--" She sighs, closing the folder. "Look, I get why you didn't tell Dean about Darryl discovering all new plane of dickitude with you, but for the record; Darryl was a sociopath on his best days, which is saying something. But most of us in the medical profession act like professionals."

"I understand." He is getting better interpreting humans; that is a genuine surprise. "Is this--does this have anything to do with Dean?"

She shakes her head, then hesitates. "Until Vera told me why she had records on you, I thought--it's stupid, I know. Even if exposure wasn't a problem, I was the only one who knew what to look for in the hospitals and the library besides Vera, and she was busy keeping Dean alive. Between runs to the cities and sterilizing everything before handing it over, it wasn't like there was time." She blows out a breath. "It's stupid, I get that."

"It had nothing to do with your ethics," he says truthfully. "Or you personally."

"I know," she assures him. "Just--until Vera gets back, I'm the camp doctor, and one without a morphine addiction or a not-so-secret sadistic streak. She wouldn't have told Dean to let me see her records if she didn't trust me, and Dean wouldn't have let me look if he didn't. You know that."

He does. "If it helps," he answers guiltily, "I never told Vera anything when I was sober, which is why she tended to question me when I wasn't. That's how I learned to deal with Dean when he was injured and refused to see Darryl."

She grins maliciously. "Darryl threw fits about Dean going to you first if you could handle it. And your all-access pass to the infirmary's stock. Had to double his dose to calm down every time, it was great. Never did overdose, but can't have everything."

They pass the time reading through Vera's years of carefully documented (appallingly detailed) records, with Alicia pausing every so often to remark, "I had no idea elbows did that", and "Hey, is that how you got that that weird scar by your--" "That was utterly terrifying and I don't want to talk about it." "So I guess some guy things just come with the body. Talk about nature versus nurture in action."

Half-way through their joint appreciation of Vera's professional version of 'no one can be this stupid' regarding a particularly uncomfortable splinter (very large, rather jagged) he forgot about for two days, he feels the warning throb returns.

"Mark the time." As she pulls the pen out and flips open the folder, he tries to concentrate enough to examine the sensation, comparing it to when he used his full range of vision in the city and if this using similar pathways. Interesting, what the human nervous system is capable of interpreting from his true form; truly, the human body is a marvel of flexibility and versatility and rises to challenges with exceptional results. Why exposure to demon blood via an open wound is agonizingly painful beyond anything he's experienced in this form is a mystery: vector, how the wound was created in his true form for the blood to then affect, or perhaps it wounds on contact, how fascinating that will be to consider in a few minutes; right now, all he wants is for it to stop.

To his surprise, through the haze of pain, he feels Alicia's fingers slide through his, squeezing his left hand tightly.

"Four minutes, forty-five seconds tops," she says clearly, tightening her grip when he tries to pull away. "Stop that; I'll keep count. A bottle of Eldritch Horror if I win?"

He nods tightly, squeezing back as carefully as he can, and makes a note to discover how on earth everyone seems to know that name now. "Have you kept up. With your knives?"

"Yeah," she answers softly. "Every week, me and Amanda go a few rounds. How about I catch you up? Did you know that double knife master's dance is set to the beat of a waltz in triple time? Mind? Blown. I knew it felt familiar when you were teaching it to me."

---

It's an hour before midnight when he tentatively decides that the worst of it is over. According to Alicia's notes and the laws of diminishing returns, it's either worked entirely out of his system or he has a fifteen second period coming up in an hour or so, and he thinks he can handle that in the cabin.

"I think I should--"

Alicia swings a leg up on the bed as he starts to move, shaking her head. "Down, boy. You're not going anywhere yet."

"I prefer to go home," he argues, then almost loses his train of thought when he realizes what he said. Home, not the cabin: that's also new. It seems to be a day for it. "I don't need to stay the night, I promise you. If something happens, I'll send Dean for you immediately." Her eyes flicker to the clock on the far wall, then back at him, and it belatedly occurs to him that he has no idea where Dean is and Alicia didn't ever actually get around to telling him. "Alicia?"

"I thought he'd be back by now," she admits uncomfortably. "Look, those are my orders, okay?"

"What--" Alicia makes a face. "Why?"

"You are not to leave alone or in the company of anyone else, and if anyone shows up who says Dean's down with that, I'm to shoot until I'm out of bullets," she recites, then looks at him earnestly. "He made me repeat that twice, by the way."

He fails to articulate a response. Any response at all.

"Dean's coming back to get you himself when he's done," she adds. "In case that wasn't clear. I've been thinking about how I'd hold the infirmary against a hostile kidnapping force with a number greater than I have bullets, and I have some definitely workable ideas. Though I'd kill for a trapdoor to the roof, do it sniper-style. We should add one, just in case."

He just manages not to ask her to elaborate, but it's difficult. Her patrol reports often contain riveting potential tactical exercises, which was surprising, to say the least. During training, Alicia never demonstrated any interest, much less aptitude, in anything but the mechanics of her job and in that was only the most average of students (at least, until she picked up a short blade and fell in love). That he missed it isn't a surprise, but he wondered why Erica didn't take advantage of having someone with this kind of mind on her team; she was competent, but imagination wasn't something she possessed in excessive quantities. It only occurs to him now that it's probable Erica didn't know, and possibly because Alicia didn't either.

"Anyway, Dean said…" She pauses, frowning briefly before her expression brightens. "Technically, he didn't say I couldn't tell you what he was doing; implication is another word for plausible deniability, am I right?"

He nods, again.

"My team's on watch tonight," she says. "He's questioning everyone who's been on watch or local patrol for the last couple of days, and he wants you here until he's done."

"Why?"

"What are the chances it was pure luck a demon found you and Dean alone on your first joint outing from the camp in over a month?" she asks rhetorically. "After three months of supernatural silence on the Kansas front? One who thinks Dean's dead and we're engaged in a mass conspiracy to conceal it?"

There is that, yes. "If he concealed himself--"

"We should have seen something," she answers. "Today, he had to be in view of the gate to see you leave before following you, and sure, there's a couple of blind spots, but he'd have to have passed in view to get to 'em. And I don't buy he sat there for days doing nothing else; demons don’t' have that kind of patience. He's been in view at least twice and they all know exactly where to watch."

He examines her face. "There's something else."

She hesitates, frown deepening. "Here's the thing. Only Amanda and her team knew you were taking Dean out today, and in case you're curious, them, me, and my team are the only ones who know you came back injured. I went with Dean with my team to give them their instructions while he and Amanda relieved the watch and in case you're curious, Dean doesn't waste words on the how fucked they were. I overheard one of the watch say they didn't see Dean in the jeep, just you."

"They panicked," he answers, well able to imagine what effect Dean would have had on the watch. "They didn't even realize who left--or remembered anyone had, most likely--and thought that might be mitigating." Alicia stares at him, eyes having widened more with each word. "What?"

"Cas, I don't think it's possible for anyone to be that stupid," she says slowly. "This is science. That level would require like, I don't know, someone to tell them to inhale and exhale to enjoy the living and breathing experience." She sits back on her stool, shaking her head in wonder before settling back with a malicious smile. "Screwing around while on duty when they should be watching: what's the penalty for that again? Mowing's kind of slow with winter coming; how about a swimming pool? For training, of course. And maybe carrying the water to it every day forever?"

"I'll imagine something new just for them," he answers distractedly, annoyed he didn't supervise them more carefully and discovered the potential for this kind of problem. "I should have been paying more attention during the watch shifts. The monotony encourages sloth."

In the back of his mind, he makes a note to look into shortening the shifts and expanding the rotation schedule despite the low number of personnel available; that would permit assigning patrol to one without breaking Dean's rule regarding necessary downtime between assignments. Mentally calling up the current schedule, he considers how to rearrange it; it's a far more productive use of his time than wondering why Dean doesn't want him--

"Cas?" Alicia says worriedly, reaching for her pen. "Is it--"

"Why can't I be there while he's questioning the watch?" he asks before he can stop himself.

She blinks, looking surprised. "You're kidding, right? This is Dean Winchester we're talking about here. For one, he's ripping them a new one for--"

The door opens, and Alicia breaks off mid-sentence, spinning the stool around, hand going to her hip before she grins in relief at the sight of Dean. Dean, on the other hand, looks startled, eyes fixed on Alicia's hand dropping from her gun.

"Took you long enough," she says, hopping off the stool and handing Dean the folder before turning back around to look at Castiel. "So the demon blood thing--"

"I'll explain," Castiel says stiffly, and Dean's eyes flicker from the folder in his hand to Castiel in unconcealed bemusement. "Alicia, I'll schedule your team for an additional two days off duty." She nods, starting for the door, reminding him of something he forgot. "Alicia?" He waits for her to turn around. "Thank you. I'll see you in the morning so you can check your work. And could you write a report on how one person would defend the infirmary with two clips of bullets and three knives? With and without a trap door for roof access."

She grins at him, surprised and pleased. "You got it. I'm up an hour before dawn, so I'll be by half an hour after that, if that's okay. I'll bring breakfast." Looking at Dean, she adds, "Want me to send Matt to help you out? I'll take his place on watch until he gets back."

"Yeah, thanks. Tell him to wait outside." As she goes out the door, shutting it behind her, Dean glances at the folder blankly as he makes his way to the stool, scanning the page Alicia helpfully left on top. "So the demon blood thing--"

"Can I leave now?" he interrupts, sitting up far too quickly and immediately regretting it: blood loss, of course. He forgot. When his vision clears, Dean is in front of him, one hand on his uninjured shoulder and looking worried. "I'm fine."

"I can tell by the way you just almost went face first onto the floor," Dean answers, green eyes dark. "Should I get Alicia back here?"

"It was hardly…" He stops, waiting for his vision to clear entirely. "I want to go home. Now."

"That's why I'm here." Dean's worried expression intensifies. "We're just waiting for Matt, and before you ask why, refer to five seconds ago. You know...." More carefully, Castiel swings his legs off the bed, deliberately dislodging Dean's hand as he fixes his gaze on the door in the hope that Matt will appear by a hitherto unknown ability to teleport. Stranger things have happened, today in fact. "Cas, what the hell is up with you?"

"Nothing," he says shortly, ignoring the hurt in Dean's voice with an effort. "I want to rest--"

"Yeah, crap, I forgot to grab the sheets from the laundry," Dean groans, dropping back on the stool. "I'll ask Matt to run get 'em after we get you home."

Castiel wonders what on earth sheets have to do with anything, though that reminds him he left at least one load in the washer today and it will need to be rewashed before drying or will have an unpleasant odor. "You've had several hours. Surely you had time before now to indulge your sybaritic urges."

"Clean sheets aren't sybaritic," Dean argues, then looks pained. "God, I know what that word means; fuck helping Sam study for the SAT's."

"Dean--"

"The watch took more time than I thought, sorry about that," Dean interrupts casually. "Amanda reminded me it was getting late and to wrap this up, my bad. I needed to get my feelings about this clusterfuck out, and turns out, I had a lot of feelings. Who knew?" He searches Dean's face but there's no indication he's being evasive. "They're on every shitty duty you can come up with for a while, by the way, in addition to whatever I come up with."

"Yes, I was.,…" There's something about Dean's expression that reminds him of this afternoon when they were talking about Sidney as well as Alicia's very straightforward recitation of Dean's orders. "Duty on watch is monotonous. I should have been more attentive."

It's a mistake; Dean's expression doesn't change, but the temperature in the room seems to drop alarmingly. "You're making excuses for them?"

"Of course not." He wishes he could blame the last shot of morphine, but sadly, it's several hours past a plausible high. "I'm simply admitting my responsibility for their lack of discipline--"

"Right now, they all swear they didn't know it was us in the jeep."

Castiel nods, not surprised. "I thought as much. Alicia said they claimed they didn't see you in the jeep earlier."

"Yeah, weird: and now every damn one of them swears they didn't say anything like that." Dean raises an eyebrow. "Should have gotten Amanda to separate them; they had plenty of time to get their stories straight and work out a game plan while I was checking on you Good thing their plan started with trying to imply Alicia's lying for the fuck of it; I might have bought it otherwise and they'd be more fucked than they are now."

"Why would they…." He's not sure where to start. "Alicia said only her team and Amanda's knew I was injured."

"Once Alicia said you'd be okay, I told them myself," Dean says evenly. "Then my feelings, and like I said, took some time to get 'em all out there."

"I want to question them myself."

"No."

He stiffens. "You told Alicia to keep me here until you were done."

"Well, one, I didn't know how you'd feel when you woke up," Dean answers reasonably. "Two, this time, it's my job to traumatize the troops. Separation of duties: also fun, won't lie about that."

"And you didn't want me there."

Lying the folder down on the edge of the bed, Dean sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You couldn't be there, Cas, not for this."

"Will you tell me the reason?" he asks, fighting to keep his voice steady. "If I've done something that makes you doubt--"

"It's not you." Dean takes a deep breath. "Like you said this morning, can't do shit half-way. Time to pony up and get shit done."

Every so often, Castiel is reminded forcibly even telepathy was often at a loss when it came to understanding Dean. "Is there any possibility this conversation will make more sense if I'm high? I can get the morphine now."

Dean scowls. "Look, there's this--thing. I should have mentioned this before, and I was going to--this afternoon, in fact--and then Jeffrey happened. The thing with Sid--"

"What does Sidney have to do with why I can't question the watch?"

"He doesn't," Dean says, sounding like he's forcing the words between his teeth. "Look, this isn't easy, so cut me some slack, okay?"

He nods slowly; Dean does look strangely uncomfortable. "Sid."

"Sid," Dean agrees in relief. "This afternoon, he was sulking like a goddamn three year old, yeah, but whatever. Right up until you showed up and he got--."

"Hostile." Dean nods, mouth tightening briefly. "Yes, I know. He thinks that I'm--"

"Personal gain, yeah, that." Dean cocks his head. "Stupid question, but--Cas, you ever wonder what that meant?"

"No," he answers honestly. "Sidney's resentment is of long standing, as I told you, and his lack of a team simply gives him more reason, in his view. Why--"

"Yeah, that actually….." Dean reaches up, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. "Jesus, this is harder than I thought."

"I don't understand what Sidney's inexplicable feelings of resentment have to do with anything."

"They're not inexplicable, just fucked up because of your history." Dean finally looks up, meeting his eyes. "He thinks you're fucking me."

Dean's obvious waiting for something, but Castiel's too startled to decipher what it might be.

"You sleep fourteen hours out of every twenty-four on average," he says finally, baffled. "Even when you're conscious, any strenuous activity is….Dean?" Dean's worried stare begins to dissolve before he abruptly slumps forward to bury his face in the mattress. Castiel blinks down at him; despite being muffled by the thin mattress, the laughter is unmistakable. "Dean?"

Dean waves a hand helplessly, which Castiel assumes means he needs time. Rescuing the folder before the vibrations of the bed send it to the floor, he flips through it, but it's almost impossible to concentrate with Dean convulsing only inches away. When he finally lifts his head, face the color of a ripe tomato, Castiel keeps his gaze on the second page despite the fact he can't read a single word.

"Sorry," Dean says, sounding so sincerely contrite that Castiel sets the folder aside, turning his attention back to Dean. "It's--never mind. Look--"

"Why would he think we were having sex?" he interrupts before Dean can continue.

"Yeah, that…." Dean's mouth quirks. "Because everyone else does and Sid is one with being part of the crowd."

"They think--" Dean nods firmly. "You're not joking."

"Nope." Dean relaxes on the stool, looking inexplicably amused. "You can't do anything half-way, can you? It's either debauchery twenty-four/seven or practicing for the gold medal in professional straight-edge celibacy. Seriously, what's up with that?"

For the second (third?) time today, Castiel fails in finding a response.

"Pop question; before now, what was your longest dry spell? My math says twelve hours on the outside when it was voluntary and you didn't have a mission interrupting your social life."

"That's an exaggeration." Though he reflects uneasily, possibly not by very much.

"I'll give you that one," Dean allows, cocking his head. "How about Dean's?"

"I don't know."

"I'm pretty sure you can guess. Since he never slept in that cabin, he would either be sleeping with whoever he was fucking or on your couch. Dude, you probably can tell me to the minute, since that's how long he kicked you off your own couch and fucked with the daily orgy schedule."

Under the weight of Dean's certainty, he nods reluctant agreement. "Six days. Five days, eighteen hours, and sixteen minutes to be more accurate. I could tell you the seconds, but--" He stops at Dean's widening grin. "You find this amusing."

"Welcome to the Apocalypse," he answers philosophically, leaning an elbow on the bed. "Look, it sounds crazy, right? I know, but--"

"Gossip doesn't need anything but supposition and boredom to fuel it," he says in resignation. "Yes, I know; I should have thought of that."

"I'd love to know how," Dean says sincerely.

"It's a very small camp," he says, wondering resentfully why on earth everyone couldn't find enough fodder with Laura and Gary's deeply uncomfortable attachment to mass exhibitionism. At least the mess is now a sex-free zone, something Castiel never thought would need to be made an order. "It's a pleasant way to pass the time, granted, but--"

"But all this time, you never heard anything about this, right?"

He pauses. "No."

"Including from Amanda who knows all and tells us all about it, in detail?"

No, he didn't. "No."

"Because the camp is far more interested in Zoe's incense fuckery and Kyle's official dry spell than the amazing coinciding events of me moving in with you and you embracing a lifestyle of less orgies, more mapmaking, and quietly taking notes during patrol meetings?" Dean asks. "Meetings that historically you treated like an opportunity for performance art sarcasm, by the way? And that was just before the fever."

Castiel closes his eyes. "Oh."

"After seeing you in action this morning, the last one was probably pretty much all anyone needed," Dean adds in unmistakable amusement. "Congratulations, Cas; you accidentally ended up living in monogamous bliss with your leader on the strength of being a good subordinate and are running the camp for me because of my feelings."

"I've never been in a relationship with anyone," he hears himself say helplessly, which may or may not be applicable, yet must be said. Opening his eyes, he sees Dean grinning at him, and yes, that's definitely amusement.

"I lived with a woman and her kid in the suburbs for a while," Dean offers, cocking his head. "That's almost like the end of the world. Little League moms…."

"Dean didn't like men."

Dean shuts his eyes, looking dangerously close to breaking into another bout of uncontrolled hilarity. "…and your toaster's in the mail, missed that one, no idea how. Adding it now."

"You aren't upset about this."

Dean stills, smile freezing, and once again, he's subject to searching green eyes. "Are you?"

"I have no idea what you're asking," he says finally, frustrated with Dean's rapid change of mood. "Other than apparently I make worse deals than you do, and I would have thought that impossible."

Dean's expression shatters, but at least he manages to choke back his laughter this time, eyes watering with the effort. "You have no idea how familiar this conversation is."

"Because you had it before." Dean's eyes widen in belated alarm. "How long have you known about this?"

"A couple of weeks," he admits. "But--"

"And you're only telling me now?" He searches backward through his memory. "You weren't yet enthusiastic regarding visitors then, so it was Ana, Brad, Amanda, Joseph, Vera, or Chuck. Brad and Ana weren't that comfortable with you yet, Amanda wouldn't without speaking to Vera first, Joseph is a possibility, but he'd speak to Vera first as well, and knowing Vera, she'd insist on doing it herself and use her position as your doctor to explain it was to avoid excess stress to your health."

"Why not Chuck?" Dean asks straight-faced before he snickers. "Yeah, I can't see it either. Nice job, Sherlock. It was Vera." Resting his head on his hand, he sighs. "I told her I'd talk to you about it. Which I am."

"Two weeks later."

"I wasn't hiding it from you," which isn't quite true, if the way Dean's eyes flicker away are any indication. "The subject didn't come up, for one, and I didn't really know how to tell you, for another."

He's willing to admit it might be somewhat difficult to introduce. "What I don't understand is why she didn't tell me."

Dean straightens. "Uh, listen--"

"Why she'd tell you--not that she owes me, of course, and I certainly haven't….but I could have stopped it--"

"On a guess," Dean interrupts, voice rising, "she would've if she thought she could trust how I'd react when you told me."

"I don't understand."

Dean blows out a breath. "Look, what happened today with Sid--"

"He wasn't and isn't an assassin!" Dean flinches, and Castiel has to fight down the spurt of inexplicable guilt: Luke will never cease to taint everything in his life. "Dean--

"If he was, would you tell me or would you think you needed to prove it first?" His voice breaks on the last word, expression darkening abruptly. "You think you can take care of yourself, and I get it, you outclass everyone here. You outclassed that demon today, and he still could have killed you by accident."

There's no excuse for what happened today; he isn't sure how he could have forgotten. "I made a mistake. It won't happen again."

"Yeah, you let your guard down because maybe for the first time since I met you and living life instead of watching for ways it could kill you. And me." Dean's expression hardens. "I'm okay with you doing that."

"I'm not, when the risk--"

"The risk is that you spend one fucking day, one fucking hour, not hating that you survived Falling!" Dean snaps, abruptly coming off the stool. "You can't do that, no one can, when you're waiting for it to shoot you in the back!" Startled, he stares up at Dean. "Jesus Christ, what part of this isn't getting through? What happened today was as much my fault as yours; I told you I'd watch your back and I fucked up first time I was tested. It won’t happen again."

"How could you have known--"

"I'm a hunter," Dean interrupts, green eyes flat. "I heard him coming, but he was ten feet away before I realized it wasn't you because the direction was wrong. That's basic shit; I had a goddamn arsenal in front of me and…." He closes his eyes, dropping back onto the stool. "You were right; I forgot my right was down for the count until it was too late. I need to work on that."

He swallows. "It wasn't your fault."

"I watched you get shot by a demon with shitty aim because I forgot to reach for a gun with my left hand," Dean says, looking at him. "The only reason we were even there today was because I've been a dick about being too sick to do shit and you decided to surprise me." His expression softens, mouth quirking unexpectedly. "Hippo porn, my own personal arsenal, and my own shooting range with a nice view: anyone ever tell you that you kick ass when it comes to presents?"

"No. I've never really…." He isn't sure what to say to that. "You could have been killed today."

"You almost were killed today," Dean says, meeting his eyes. "Last part of today was shitty, yeah, but before that was great; we're definitely doing that again. The part where you looked like, just maybe, you were having fun."

"I was." It was the right response; Dean relaxes on the stool. "However--"

"No," Dean interrupts. "There's no 'however', no 'but', no 'next time I'll remember fun is wrong'. This, Cas, is your life; you've tried everything else--and then some--so why not try living it?"

"What do you think I've been doing?"

"Your job," he answers succinctly. "Dean, and now me."

He sucks in a breath.

"It's the shittiest thing to be grateful for," Dean continues bleakly. "I'm just your goddamn job, but if I wasn't, you'd be dead."

"You're not," he whispers. "I don't think of you as my job."

The set look vanishes, replaced with a slow, satisfied smile. "I was hoping you'd say that. So what's it gonna be: ready to try the living thing? I'm in, what about you?"

Castiel stares at him, throat tight. "You want to save me."

"As soon as I figure out how," Dean agrees. "Until then, I'll settle for you wanting to save yourself. I'll give you every reason in the world to do it, but you gotta meet me halfway here. The only thing you got to risk is disappointment, and--seriously, is it better not to give a shit about anything at all?"

"It's easier," Castiel tells the door, aware of Dean's abrupt stillness beside him, the beginnings of--yes, that would be disappointment. It won't last, he knows that, because this is Dean Winchester and nothing can ever be simple or easy. This conversation has happened in many forms before this, and there's no chance it won't happen again. "I'm going to disappoint you, no matter how hard I try to do otherwise."

"I'll take my chances," Dean says. "Question is, are you willing to risk me disappointing you?"

"What?"

"I will," Dean adds with a shrug. "It's a thing people do. Shitty, but you gotta roll with it. We call it life." He tilts his head toward the door as he starts to his feet. "Wanna get out of here?"

He almost agrees, then realizes he almost forgot how this conversation began. "The rumor."

"That." Dean gives the door a longing look before reluctantly seating himself again. "Yeah, about that. I took care of it, no problem."

"You did." Dean seems to find the wall very interesting. "So you explained it wasn't true and someone might eventually believe it?" He tries and fails to imagine a scenario to provide sufficient evidence with even a marginal chance of success, much less one not utterly depressing to even contemplate.

"Yeah, that wasn't gonna work," Dean agrees. "So I confirmed it instead."

At a tentative knock on the door, he nearly knocks over the stool on his way to the door. "That's Matt," he says, already reaching for the doorknob. "So you wanna--"

"I want to go home." That much he's certain of right now. Perhaps the only thing.

"Awesome," he says enthusiastically, opening the door to reveal startled Matt. "Give us a second. Cas, where're your--never mind." Dean picks up the bottle of painkillers Alicia left on the tray and tucks them into his pocket before coming up to his left side. "Let's get out of here."

---

Dean spends an inordinate of time making the bed before returning to the living room and pulling Castiel to his feet. Only belatedly does he realize why Dean insisted he take two of the pills as soon as they arrived at the cabin; he's sitting on the neatly-made bed, blankets pulled back invitingly, before he realizes what Dean has in mind.

"Dean--"

"Cas, you sleep on your right side, where you currently have a bullet graze with added demon blood," Dean reminds him, pushing him down ruthlessly onto the mattress with a long squeal of miserable springs; he can relate. "I need to check it every few hours, you need sleep, and dude, you're not winning this so why the fuck even try?"

Castiel blinks at him.

"Also, Alicia will be wondering why the hell I exiled you to the couch when she shows up in the morning," Dean adds, nudging him over until he can sit down beside him on the bed. "I already got a shitty reputation when it comes to relationships here; don't wanna add 'makes injured boyfriend sleep on the couch' to it."

After a moment of staring at him, Castiel reaches back and braces a pillow against the headboard before sitting up, ignoring Dean's scowl as well as the throb of muted pain from his arm. "This would be an excellent time for an explanation."

"I like morning."

"I like now," he answers firmly, just remembering not to cross his arms. "Whenever you're ready."

Dean makes a face but settles onto the bed. "The watch changed their story, but it's not like either one would have made this okay. Cas, their job is to watch; that doesn't take special skills. It needs eyes to see things happening in front of them, and if they can't do that without you riding their asses, then they're not just useless, they're a danger to everyone in the camp."

Reluctantly, he nods his agreement.

"So that's out of the way." Dean takes a deep breath. "Cas, if what Alicia heard was supposed to be their first defense, they were assuming I'd be less pissed because they thought you were alone when you left."

"Yes, I thought as much," he agrees, and Dean's expression darkens; for no reason at all, he finds himself thinking again of the way that Dean told Sidney that he'd shoot him. "Dean?"

"I'd be pissed if it happened to anyone in the camp," Dean says evenly. "But if they've got a fucking rating system, might as well make sure you're at the top while they learn the value of all life."

"Yes, I understand," he says, feeling as if he's missing something important. "Except now I'd like an explanation of why it's been two weeks since Vera told you and in that time you made no effort to disabuse the camp of their misconception. And tonight you confirmed it."

"Besides the fact they wouldn't believe it?"

"That's not an answer."

"It's actually the only answer I need," Dean answers, bracing a hand on the mattress behind him. "They wouldn't believe it, it's been too long, so best case scenario is I'm okay with fucking you, living with you, making you do my job while I'm sick, but I draw the line at admitting to anyone I'm taking it up the ass." Dean shrugs at his expression. "Something someone said: it got to me."

He nods slowly, feeling very much as if he's standing on exceedingly fragile ice and the sun is very close to rising.

"You don't hide anything," Dean continues. "Best case scenario, they think you're doing it now for me, because I'm ashamed of it. Of you. And you're willing to go along with it, and no one Cas--no one--is worth that."

"I don't care what anyone thinks of me."

"I care," Dean answers flatly. He's still absorbing that when he adds, "I waited two weeks, fine, but I haven't just been--look, I needed to think, and--Cas, no one wonders why the hell after two years of the artist formerly known as Dean Winchester, shoot-on-sight demon-torturing control freak came back from Kansas City a whole new person. Cas, it's only been three months; someone should have at least wondered, but no one ever questioned it, and Vera would have said something if that ever came up."

She would have, that much is true. "There were mitigating circumstances."

"Lots of 'em," Dean agrees, eyes distant. "Except one thing. The first time I was here, Dean handcuffed me and he would have killed me if I'd answered his question wrong. That was why after Chuck outed me, both of you couldn't risk anyone knowing the truth. It didn't matter what I told them, they would have killed me just for looking like him. You couldn't even risk Alicia helping Vera out during the fever, because she would know something was off on sight." Castiel nods. "But all this time, no one ever--even once, after two weeks missing--thought maybe someone should do a physical check? Just to be sure? Never asked you?"

He shakes his head. "No, they didn't, but--"

"Even with the stunning coincidence that with a two year history of sleeping with anyone who'd say yes, I stopped? If I were the paranoid kind, I'd wonder if maybe removing clothing was the deal breaker there."

Castiel slumps back against the pillow.

"No one wondered, though, because you answered both questions without a word," Dean finishes. "You're the only person in this camp since Kansas City that has personally verified that I have all the right scars in all the right places, and the reason I'm not banging my way across the camp anymore."

"Vera knows it's not true."

"Vera trusts you," Dean answers quietly. "And I’m pretty sure that's the only reason she bought any of it."

He swallows. "She said something."

"That she didn't hate me," Dean answers with a trace of amusement. "Don't worry about it, we were bonding. Look, I could be wrong, but I think it helped. No one asked why I put you in charge of the camp or was taking your advice after two years of ignoring you in patrol meetings." He pause, something unreadable in his expression. "After today, it's fact; no one's gonna question your orders, no one's gonna think you're not doing exactly what I want you to do, and no one--no one--is gonna think they can try and put a bullet in your head in this camp without me hunting them down no matter where they hide. Not after what the watch is gonna be telling everyone about what went down tonight.

"Turns out I do like you that much," Dean adds ruefully, expression lightening unexpectedly. "And still got a couple of chapters of hippo porn you haven't translated, which yeah, was a factor, not gonna lie here--"

"Dean."

Dean makes a face. "Look, I get this sucks for you, all right?"

Castiel reviews the conversation to this moment and decides to let Dean elucidate. "It does?"

"Yeah." Dean blows out a breath. "Look, this--thing, whatever--it doesn't mean you have to keep trying for expert level celibacy or anything."

Castiel tilts his head, wondering if Dean is aware of the meaning of the words currently emerging from his mouth.

"I thought about this," Dean explains.

"For two weeks." Far, far too much time, if this is going where he suspects it is.

Dean nods firmly, green eyes darting toward the lamp. "Look, whatever you want to do--whenever you want! I mean, the celibacy kick's gotta end sometime…." A complex series of expressions cross Dean's face before he adds, not casually at all, "So don't let this stop you."

This discussion would benefit from Dean eschewing euphemisms, for both their sakes. "You mean the fact that you confirmed we were in a relationship tonight shouldn't stop me from having sex with other members of the camp."

Dean winces but--amazingly--that seems to be exactly what he meant. "Yeah."

"Or several people," he adds, watching Dean's face and wishing he could appreciate the novelty of having a better grasp of human at this moment than someone born to it and currently avoiding meeting his eyes. It's less surprising, however, when he considers this is Dean, self-knowledge isn't his strongest area of expertise ,and this isn't about sex, though it would be infinitely simpler if it were. "After something just short of a very stable three month relationship, during which time occurred a fever that nearly killed you, you giving me command of the camp so you can recover in peace, and what was probably a genuinely terrifying interview between you and the watch because on an excursion from the camp I was injured, I am free to cheat on you with your--and apparently my--subordinates with a clear conscience."

He wonders if Dean thinks that expression is supposed to reflect 'agreement' or even 'vague neutrality'.

"While you're still sick," he continues, more for his own amusement than anything else. "Is the cabin acceptable or would you prefer I--"

"Fuck you," Dean snaps at him, crossing his arms defensively. "Come on, that's not what I meant. You can--"

"Sneak in and out of various cabins after dusk?" he offers, curious if Dean during all his very extensive thinking at some point actually made a plan for this. It's unlikely; if he's right, the full horror of what he's suggesting is only now dawning on him. "While you're still weak from the fever and need comfort and support."

Dean frowns uneasily. "When you put it like that, yeah, it sounds shitty--"

"You mean an accurate summary of your--whatever this is?" he asks. "And you, of course, are so breathtakingly stupid that you don't notice my regular absences."

"Or they'll assume--you can tell them--I'm okay with it!" Dean answers hotly, and oh God, he's sincere. "It's not like you'd actually be cheating on me, Jesus!"

He takes a deep breath; perhaps he should try something else.

"Dean, you instruct the local patrol regularly now." Dean nods. "Some I used to have sex with on a semi-regular basis."

Dean nods again, apparently oblivious to the connection. "Right. So?"

"Do you honestly think you can instruct the patrol with your usual enjoyment of their company if you know I was fucking at least one of them an hour earlier? Or several of them?"

"How would I know--"

"Take as a given that you'd guess." He'd know. This is Dean, and he's very good at that.

Dean's expression goes through a variety of permutations, all of which suggest that this would not end well for anyone. "I could--"

"You might be able to," he interrupts, giving up. "I can't."

Dean's eyes widen, and Castiel entertains a brief fantasy of throttling him.

"I've never promised anyone monogamy, and I have never been involved with anyone who expected it of me," he says, deciding to give Dean a reason he can deal with, as the most obvious continues to elude him entirely. "Because if I made such a promise, I would never break it. If I made anyone that promise, I wouldn't want to."

He can almost see the counterarguments in Dean's face, the most important being that he never actually made that promise, and so nothing would be broken. He doesn't use any of them.

"Even if--even if I could," he adds more thoughtfully, "I won't do that to you. It's one thing for everyone to think that you're infatuated enough to let me do this. It's another that you're so infatuated with me that you would do that and overlook blatant infidelity as well. It may not be real, but how you will feel knowing what everyone here must think--"

"You think I care what anyone thinks?"

"Yes, but in this case, whether you care or not is immaterial; I care, and I won't do it."

There's no way to mistake the guilty relief; it would help a great deal if Dean would admit he was relieved, but he supposes narrowly avoiding Dean attempting to prove how open-minded he is regarding Castiel's sex life is really enough of a victory. Another week of thinking and it's possible he may have gotten to that.

"Cas…"

"I don't care," he says honestly, quietly resenting sexuality once again for making life so much more complicated than it needed to be. This would be so much easier if Dean were attracted to him and they could simply have sex. No strange discussion, Dean would be in a far better mood on a regular basis, and he wouldn't be cultivating what is becoming a very questionable relationship with running water.

Dean peers at him uncertainly. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely certain," Castiel answers with perfect truth. "However, I would like to know exactly what you told the watch. I'm sorry I missed it."

For a moment, Dean hesitates, then grins at him, perfectly easy again, and Castiel breathes a careful sigh of relief. His skill at interpreting humans is rapidly approaching expertise; this has indeed been a very productive day. "Where do you want me to start?"

---

It's the Stars That Lie, 10/12