deancas + clenching their fists
you: antagonists to lovers
me: antagonists to best friends to lovers
You know, when I knew Castiel, he was a soldier. He was a warrior. He was an angel’s angel. Now look how far he’s fallen.
Sam had long since gone to bed and Dean had wandered off not long after, supposedly also calling it a night, but Cas is still sitting at the war room table, staring at Warsaw with infinite and indiscernible thoughts rushing through his mind. Sam and Dean’s words, their praise, their assurance, their gratitude, overlayed every shred of information coursing through him. It made his stomach warm, his chest swell. It made him feel so full he could hardly stand it.
But there was also the doubt.
Cas was so blinded by it. They’re only telling you what you want to hear so you won’t leave them. You’re a tool, Castiel, nothing more. Everything they touch is ruined, how are you any different? You’re their pet. They’re attack dog. You’re-–
Cas blinks and looks up to see Dean standing beside him, brows pinched into that worried expression that he gets that Cas doesn’t really understand.
“I said your name like ten times, man. What’s wrong?”
Cas shakes his head, sitting up a bit more in his chair. “It’s nothing. Just thinking.”
Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, don’t hurt yourself.”
Cas rolls his eyes and looks down at his own hands clasped in his lap.