The Disease of Separation

12

When Dean awoke the next morning, it was to a pair of soft blue eyes watching him from the side of his bed. At first, in his groggy state, Dean didn't recognize him and bolted up, reaching for a gun that wasn't there. Then he realized it was Cas and grabbed his chest to stop his pounding heartbeat, cursing quietly under his breath. Cas had also bolted up, seeming equally startled that Dean could see him.

"Jesus Cas, what the hell are you doing?" Dean shot at the angel, "You almost gave me a damn heart attack!"

"Sorry, I...I just woke up and wasn't sure what to do with myself," Cas murmured.

Dean simply looked at Cas for a second. He could still feel the tension hanging between them in the air, still wafting around, trailing them everywhere since their discussion in the kitchen. What were they now even? Dean still loved him of course, but after what he said...did Cas love him anymore? He wanted to say something - That he was sorry, that he loved Cas, that he was stupid for what he said yesterday - yet he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't put it into words, not any that would do any good that is.

"Well...good morning," Was all Dean could think to say to break the awkward silence. Cas simply nodded back. So Dean threw the covers off of him and carefully stood on his one leg, wobbling a bit, though he kept his stance. "I'm going to take a shower. Why don't you check in on Sammy and Gabe for me?" Dean suggested.

"Let me at least help you to the shower," Cas offered, reaching to help Dean. God damn it, Dean was so sick of feeling so helpless! Before Cas could reach him, he grabbed a pocket knife off his nightstand and jabbed it at Cas, making the angel jerk backwards.

"Cas, let me do this on my own. I am a strong, independent male who doesn't need a man," Dean smiled slightly, in a joking way.

"Dean, come on," Cas reached for Dean again, then yanked his hand back as Dean pricked his palm with the blade. His eyes stretched wide as he looked up at Dean in shock. "You...hurt me?"

"Nothin' personal Cas. Just let me do this myself, okay? I'm sure I can handle it," Dean brandished his pocket knife, cocking one eyebrow at Cas challengingly. Cas ran his thumb over the cut  before putting his hands down. "Fine. Good luck then," He turned and left Dean's room, throwing his hands up in defeat. Dean kept the small knife on him, in case Cas tried to interfere again, as he leaped the wall next to the door, resting one hand against it as he opened it carefully and hopped out into the hallway, keeping one hand firmly against the wall as he made his way to the bathroom.

It didn't take to long to get there. He sighed and sat down on the toilet as he undressed, throwing his clothes lazily to the tiled floor. Standing once more, he carefully grabbed at the edge of the sink to move himself into the shower, leaning over cautiously to turn it on. At first the shock of cold water made him jump, goosebumps rising over his shuddering skin. Then it warmed, Dean taking pleasure in the hot water washing over him, looking up at the shower head and rubbing his face with his hand, his other hand pressed against the wall. When was the last time he had taken a shower? Probably a day before he had been kidnapped. He must smell like shit. Knowing this he reached to the side of the little shelf that held their shampoos (yes, plural - Sam's hair was very demanding, apparently) and body wash, grabbing a bottle of shampoo, and releasing a hand from the wall to open it, the lid closed tight. Of course, as he did this the bottle slipped from his hands, crashing to the floor, making Dean jump once again (there was no louder noise than a bottle dropped in the shower), only now he wasn't stabilizing himself against the wall, so he slipped, crashing to the shower floor.

"Fuck," Dean cursed quietly, pain shooting through him for a split second. He groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of his head that throbbed sorely.