14. Chapter 14

Considering that he was thirty years old, Dean really should have known better than to go out in the sun for several hours without putting on sunscreen first.

It was a lesson that had been drummed into him as a kid, back when he first learned that, while Sam and their father would turn an envious shade of gold in the sun, Dean did not tan. At all. His skin went from pale and freckled straight to sunburned, and he was unfortunate enough that his sunburns always hurt, always peeled and always took ages to fade. Yet somehow, every summer there was at least one or two days when the concept of sunscreen slipped his mind and he ended up with a sunburn.

Today was no different, except that maybe the sunburn wasn't as bad as it could have been because Castiel had noticed that his skin was bypassing pink and was heading towards a nice shade of red before Dean did. His shoulders, the back of his neck, ears, face, chest, stomach, lower back, thighs, knees, shins, toes... basically every part of his body not covered by that damn pull-up, and suddenly he was kind of glad that Castiel had insisted he wear it because he did not need a sunburn on his dick on top of everything else. As it was, Dean stared mournfully down at his chest as they walked back to the house. It didn't hurt to move, but he knew that in no time at all his skin was going to get that tight feeling and then he wouldn't want anything touching him.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said for about the sixth time, gently squeezing Dean's hand.

"It's not your fault," Dean muttered, because it really wasn't. Castiel was an angel that didn't even eat or sleep. Sunburn was probably a foreign concept to him. It was Dean's own stupidity that had led him to end up with this problem. He glanced down at their joined hands and winced at the sight of their skin side by side. Yeah, he was definitely going to be hurting tonight.

"I should have known." Castiel pursed his lips, looking annoyed. "I tried to do research before bringing you here."

"Dude, sunburn doesn't even happen to everyone, so it's not a big deal. I just... lost the genetic lottery, okay?" Dean shrugged. He was pretty sure Mary used to sunburn, too. Or at least he had a vague recollection of her slathering sunscreen all over him and then herself while John laughed at them.

"Are you in pain?"

"No, I'm fine."

Castiel gave him a searching look, like he wasn't sure he believed Dean was being honest, but did not try to heal him. They reached the front porch of the cabin and walked up the steps together. Dean sighed as he entered, a little knot of tension in his chest coming undone as the door was shut behind them. It turned out that Castiel was telling the truth when he said the cabin was completely isolated, and it would be next to impossible for someone to sneak up on an angel, but it was hard for him to shake the feeling that someone was going to pop out from behind a tree and see him.

"Can I have a drink?" he asked, rolling his shoulders in an effort to ease the stiffness that was settling in. He pulled his t-shirt over his shoulders, tossing it onto the arm of the couch. The air in the cabin wasn't particularly cool, but against his overheated skin it felt like it was and he shivered.

"I'll get you some lemonade. You should answer your phone."

Dean looked around in surprise, because he hadn't even heard the sound of his ringtone. Now that Castiel mentioned it, he could hear it playing faintly. It took him a moment to locate his phone, following the sound until he found it tucked into the pocket of his jacket. He stared down at the screen. It was Sam. It was not the first time his brother had called him: far from it. For a man who wanted to get away, Sam was stubborn as hell and usually called at least every second or third day.

Until now, Dean had let those calls go to voicemail and then called Sam back later, when he knew his brother wouldn't be able to pick up. He was trying hard to be okay with the fact that Sam had gone back to Stanford, he really was, but it was a lot easier when he didn't have to listen to Sam brag about how great the place was. It was tempting to just let this call go unanswered too, but then Castiel would be sure to ask why and Dean didn't want to explain it.

His phone stopped ringing as it went to voicemail, but it started back up again almost immediately. Apparently Sam wasn't going to give up easily. Dean licked his lips nervously, glancing at the kitchen. He hit the button to answer and slowly brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dean?" Sam sounded kind of shocked that he'd actually picked up.

"Hi Sammy."

"Fuck! Do you know how long I've been trying to get a hold of you? I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere! Bobby didn't know where you were! I even called Lisa! What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam was yelling so loud that Dean had to hold the phone away from his ear.

"You called Lisa?" Dean repeated, amazed.

"I told you, I didn't know where you'd gone. For all I knew, some demon had you locked up and you were being forced to leave me those messages. Goddamnit, Dean, you scared me half to death."

There was no doubt in Dean's mind that his brother was sporting a full bitchface. "I'm sorry, Sammy, okay?" he muttered, staring hard at the ground. Sometimes apologizing was the easiest way to get Sam off his back, and he didn't feel up to being dragged over the rocks by his brother right then. He ducked his head, hunching his shoulders. "I just... needed a little time to myself, that's all."

"And there's nothing wrong with that so long as you let me know that you're alive," Sam said, though his voice was a little warmer now. "Bobby told me that you were hunting."

"I was."

"But now you're not." There was definitely a question there, even though Sam hadn't come right out and asked.

Dean hesitated. It was one thing to talk to Bobby about this. Sam was a different matter entirely. But short of hanging up on his brother, he couldn't see any way to successfully divert this conversation. Still, just hanging up on him was looking like a more attractive option by the second. He wasn't sure he was ready to hear what Sam thought about all this. After a long pause, he said, "No, I'm not. I'm with Cas."

"Bobby told me," said Sam, confirming Dean's suspicions. "I think it's good, dude."

"You do?" Dean said, surprised, accepting a glass of lemonade when Castiel held it out to him. He nodded his thanks, watching as Castiel went back into the kitchen.

"God, Dean, you think I wanted you out there hunting all by yourself? I know, I know, you're perfectly capable of going on jobs without any back-up and you did it while I was gone the first time, but that's how hunters get killed. So yeah, I would take anything over you hunting alone. Besides, you needed a break just as much as I did. Since you weren't willing to settle down in any other way, whatever works. Though it figures it took Cas interfering to make you take a break for a while."

"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled, shivering again. He suddenly wished that he hadn't taken his t-shirt off, because the room felt even colder than before, like the temperature had dropped in the span of a few seconds. He swallowed hard, looking down at his bare feet.

"I thought you were going to Lisa's, though. You changed your mind?"

And there it was, the skillfully hidden disappointment disguised as a probing question, an art that John Winchester had been exceptional at and which he'd passed on to both of his children. At that moment, Sam sounded exactly like their feather.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath against the sudden tightening in his chest, but it didn't work very well. His breath hitched when he forced himself to speak. "Lisa's moved on, Sammy. She has a life that doesn't involve me. The two of us fucked one weekend when we were both stupid kids. That's no reason to think that she'd actually want a relationship or something like that. There was no point in me going there and having it all fall apart."

"Right," Sam said, somehow managing to pack an awful lot of doubt into that one word. "And you think that being with Cas and becoming a nestling is the better option?"

"It will help me be a better hunter," Dean replied, but the reasoning rang cold and empty to his ears. He was pretty sure he wasn't imagining he faint scoff that came over the line.

"A better hunter? Man, that's why you're doing this? Cas deserves better than that. Don't do this unless you're willing to actually commit to it. If you're not, let him go out and find someone else."

His lungs weren't working that well anymore. Dean still had his eyes shut. It wasn't helping against the familiar sting of tears. "Don't you think I know that?" he snapped, surprising even himself with the anger in his voice. "I know how important this is, believe me, I've had it drummed into my head over the past two weeks."

"Good, if that's what you need to take this seriously. This is a really big deal to angels, Dean."

Then unspoken "so don't screw up" was so loud that it might as well have been said. Dean clenched his fingers into a fist, not minding the way his whole arm ached as the burned flesh was pulled. "I know. I'm trying."

"Good. I'm still doing good here," Sam went on, changing tracks completely. "Whatever Gabriel did to make everyone forget that we used to be on the FBI's most wanted list, it worked. People remember me, but they don't seem to make any connection between me and what was on the news. It's actually kind of nice. Some of my old professors even told me they'd give me letters of recommendation, and everyone's been really great about the time I took off."

"That's awesome, Sammy," he said, and he must have sounded reasonably steady because Sam didn't question him. Which would have been remarkable, except Dean had a lot of experience in sounding fine around his little brother, even when every word of praise that came out of Sam's mouth was like being punched in the stomach. And he hated himself for feeling this way, because going back to Stanford had been Sam's dream since the day he left. Dean should have happy for him, not wishing that Sam would change his mind and decide that he wanted a lifetime of hunting after all.

He forced himself to sit there and listen to the rest of what Sam wanted to say: mostly inane details about his dorm room, his roommate, his classes, the cafeteria, and the part-time job he'd picked up at a local cafe. The only good thing about it was that Dean didn't really have to speak, just make the occasional grunt or sound to let Sam know that he was still listening. It should have been ample time to get himself under control, but the longer that he listened to Sam talk, the harder it got. At one point, when his breath audibly hitched again, he knew that he had to end the conversation. He was not going to sit here and have a breakdown where Sam could hear.

"Look, Sammy," he said shakily, "I gotta go. Cas is waiting for me to cook supper." It was the first excuse that came to mind that sounded even remotely reasonable, but Sam still chuckled.

"You, cooking? Man, I almost wish I was there to see that."

Dean froze, his mind going blank.

"Maybe I can come see you guys on my next break," Sam added. "Just... make sure you don't do anything to mess this up. And call me, you jerk. Or next time I'm going to pray to Gabriel and make him bring me to you, and you know how bitchy he gets when we need him to do something."

"I will."

"Good. Bye, Dean."

He hung up without choking out a goodbye, figuring that Sam wouldn't notice. He let the phone drop to the couch, bending double and jamming the heels of his palms into his eyes to stem the burn of tears. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just be happy for his brother? Why did he have to feel like Sam was leaving him behind? At least this time the two of them were still talking. Last time Sam went to Stanford, he wouldn't have cared if Dean had ended up in a dead in a ditch. It was a weird twist to think that now Sam was the one who was trying to keep in contact with him.

And hell, maybe that would have been better than feeling like Sam was judging him for this or that Sam thought Castiel could do better than him.

"Dean?"

The sound of the soft, concerned voice broke through the deep, shuddery breaths he was forcing himself to take. Dean very pointedly refused to look up, because he was pretty sure his flimsy control would break entirely if he saw the same concern reflected in Castiel's face.

"Make it stop," he whispered.

"Make what stop?"

"I can't - it's like a flood. It's gonna bury me," Dean said, mortified when his voice cracked.

"Oh, baby." That was the only warning he got before Castiel scooped him up, cradling Dean on his hip just like a toddler. Dean quelled his automatic reaction to squirm away, instead wrapping his arms around Castiel's neck and hiding his face. This way, he didn't have to worry about Castiel trying to look at him. It was safer, even if it did make the urge to cry that much stronger.

Castiel's large hand rubbed up and down his back. "It's okay, Dean. You don't have to be scared to cry."

"'M not gonna cry!" he hissed, wiggling with discomfort, because now his sunburn was starting to really hurt.

The hand on his back paused momentarily before resuming. A light tingling sensation spread through Dean's body, easing the sting of the sunburn, and he knew without looking that his skin was back to its former pale glory. "I know. But you could, if you wanted to. If you needed to. That's what I'm here for. And I wouldn't think any less of you."

Dean didn't bother to dignify that with an answer, tightening his grip instead, forcing back to the overwhelming emotions and pressure. He didn't need to cry. No matter what Castiel said, he was not some baby. He was going to make it through this whole process with his dignity intact, even if it killed him.