Promise?

The things we forget

The next few weeks were awkward as hell for both, Dean and Castiel. They both avoided talking to each other, neither of them felt comfortable doing so. Dean had noticed the way Castiel had been distant with him ever since, well, Dean had announced his decision. Dean couldn't even focus on his book due to all these things going on, and on top of that, there was his mom, constantly worrying that John might burst in through the doors and drag her away with him.

"I won't let him, mom."

"You never know what might happen, Dean."

Their conversations went on for hours about how John might find a way to get Mary back. Dean had asked her multiple times if she had wanted to file a police case against John. She had refused to do so.

Dean was getting a beer from the fridge when he heard Castiel arrive beside him. He froze. "H - hey Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

Dean checked to see if his mom was around, but then remembered that she had gone to Sam's today. "So...how are ya?" He tried to make the conversation as casual as possible.

Castiel smiled, but Dean could sense the lingering pain behind it. What he couldn't figure out was, why? "I'm always fine, Dean."

Dean nodded slowly before saying, "You don't look so fine today."

Castiel's smile faltered, "Well, I think you're reading too much into it. Maybe it's because you're an author and you write people's emotion and stuff," He chuckled awkwardly, "I'm fine, though. Don't worry about me. What about you?"

"Peachy."

An awkward silence took place between them. Both of them wanted to say something, anything, to fill the silence, but neither had the guts to do so.

Dean was now sitting on his desk, and staring aimlessly at the screen in front of him. He was going through a writer's block, again. "Dean, I hate this."

Dean's heartbeat paced up at the voice. What is he doing here? I didn't even call him...And what does he hate? What's he talking about? "Hate what?" Dean swung his chair to face Castiel, who looked like he was on the verge of crying.

Castiel oscillated his hand between him and Dean, "This! Us! The way we are these days. I hate it!" Dean could feel the pain in his voice. What he couldn't understand was why. Why was he so hurt? Dean couldn't possibly imagine Castiel reciprocating what he felt.

"Cas..." Dean stood up from his chair and walked towards him, "Are you okay?" Dean began to notice something as he got closer to Castiel. A...bruise. A bruise, on his cheekbone. What the hell?! "Cas, who - " Dean gasped as he touched the bruise. Castiel flinched and then backed away. He felt anger bubble up inside him, but then he also felt sadness, and guilt, and hatred for the person who had done this. Dean wasn't realizing it, but his face was getting redder and redder by the second. "Cas. Who did this?"

Castiel just stood there quietly and stared at Dean. Dean took a few steps towards Castiel, but he kept backing away, that was, until he felt the edge of the bed against the back of his knees. He gasped, "Dean - It's nothing, really." He snapped his fingers, and then the bruise was gone. "See? It's nothing."

"Cas, I'm an author. I've described each and every one of the emotions that my characters feel in my books. I've described their body languages, the way they feel, the way they feel about their significant other." Dean gazed into Castiel's eyes, standing just inches away from him. "The way they act around their significant other." He said breathily as his eyes fell directly upon Castiel's lips.

Castiel felt tears well up in his eyes. "I'm just an imagination, Dean."

Broken. That would be the word one would use to describe the words that were being spoken by Castiel. Broken, shattered, strained, and scared. Broken, because it pained him to say them. Shattered, because those words were said anyways. Strained, because he regretted saying them as soon as he did. And scared, because he knew the outcome of saying them.