Castiel doesn't go with Dean when he gets his cast off. Not only is he too tired, but he's also a bit wary of running into people that recognize him. He always runs that risk when he goes in public — which is why he's been inside for most of the year — but now that Dean's drawing attention to himself with his crutches, Castiel doesn't want to go anywhere with him. It'll be nice when he's back to walking like a normal person.
It's impossible not to notice that Dean's in a bad mood when he gets back. He limps into the room — his left leg is still not working right, it would seem — and tosses his crutches against the wall. He walks out without a word, and Castiel follows him from a safe distance to the bedroom, where the older boy just flops facedown on the bed.
"Dean?" Castiel says uncertainly, watching him from the doorway. "Are you okay?"
"I want to die," Dean deadpans, the pillow in his face muffling his voice a little.
"What happened?" Castiel asks.
"I can't play football anymore."
"Oh, no, I'm sorry," Castiel says. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to his fiancé. "Does that mean your leg isn't healing right?"
Dean sighs and rolls over to face him. "No, it is. They just don't want to risk me breaking it again, especially after getting surgery and getting a bunch of screws stuck in my leg or something." He rolls his eyes. "It's fucking stupid."
"I'm sorry," Castiel says again. "But, you know, it's probably good that you don't break your leg again, so..."
"No, it's fucking stupid," Dean says. "If I want to risk breaking my leg again, let me risk breaking my fucking leg."
"Dean, you can't break your leg again," Castiel says.
"I should be the one to make that choice, though," Dean says. "Not some dumbass doctors at the hospital."
"You should probably trust their judgement," Castiel says. "It's kinda what they do for a living."
"And football's what I do for a living!" Dean says. "Why do they get to take that away from me?"
"They're not taking anything away from you," Castiel says. "They're probably saving you, honestly. If you want to blame somebody, blame the guy that broke your leg."
"That's how the game goes," Dean says. "It's not his fault."
"That's how working in a hospital goes," Castiel says. "It's not their fault."
Dean just glares at him.
Castiel lies down on the bed, his face just a few inches from Dean's because if he moved any farther away, he'd fall off the side of the bed.
"I'm sorry you can't play football anymore," Castiel says.
Dean just sighs.
"I know it's not much of a bright spot," Castiel says, "but if it's any consolation, it'll give you and I more time to do things together."
"Like what?" Dean asks. "We can barely leave the house without getting cameras shoved in our faces. That's not exactly my idea of a good time."
"I know, but we can still..." Castiel trails off. What can they do? "We could go back to Sioux Falls."
"That would be fun!" Dean says with an exaggerated smile, which falls off his face as he finishes, "For six months, tops."
"What about LA?" Castiel asks.
"I lived there for four years," Dean deadpans. "I'm over it."
"New York?" Castiel tries.
"So we can do the exact same thing we do here but in a bigger house?" Dean rolls his eyes.
"Nashville?"
"Why the fuck would we go to Nashville?" Dean asks.
"I don't know," Castiel says. "It's the heart of country music. There's probably a lot of cool stuff."
"From country singers? Not a chance," Dean says.
Castiel sighs. "Then what do you want to do?"
"I want to play football," Dean says. "Which just happens to be the one thing I can't do."
"But you constantly complained about it when you were playing," Castiel says.
"Yeah, but I complain about everything," Dean says. "That doesn't mean I don't like it."
"Then maybe you would like any of the places I said," Castiel says.
"No."
"Come on, we have to do something," Castiel says.
"The only something I want to do is play football," Dean mutters.
Castiel sighs. "God, you're annoying." He glances at the clock. 3:30. It's not really meal time, but... "Have you had lunch yet?"
"Yeah, I ate before I left," Dean says. "Why?"
So it's been a few hours. That works, right?
"How about we go out for dinner?" Castiel asks. "Right now. It won't be very crowded. We can try to be normal people for once."
"But —"
"It's not a suggestion," Castiel says. "Come on, get up. We're gonna go eat."
Dean sighs. "Fine."