Standing Together

Chapter 95

A/N Taylor Swift really didn't have to snap that hard last night! Go watch her performance of I Did Something Bad from the AMAs and admire Karyn the snake because that shit was so freaking good and now I need a new wig

Castiel wakes up pretty late one day in late June. Well, not just one day. He sleeps in every day, now that he doesn't have any actual plans in his life. But it's this particular day that it really affects him.

Castiel heads out to the kitchen to find Dean, and it doesn't take very long. Dean's sitting at the table, chatting with someone on the phone. When he sees his fiancé, he gives the boy a smile, and Castiel waves silently.

Castiel heads to the pantry, pulling out a protein bar for breakfast. He's in the middle of opening it when he catches the end of Dean's conversation.

"Talk to you later, Bobby. Happy Father's Day."

Castiel freezes at that. Dean doesn't seem to notice at first, just putting his phone down and taking a sip of his coffee. He starts to say something to Castiel, then pauses.

"Hey, Cas, you okay?" Dean asks.

"What? Yeah." Castiel swallows hard and nods. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Dean asks skeptically. "You just got really pale."

"I'm fine," Castiel repeats.

"I don't buy it." Dean walks over to him and takes his hands. "Cas, what's wrong?"

"It's Father's Day?" Castiel says quietly.

Dean sighs and wraps his arms around the boy. "I know, Father's Days without your dad can be rough."

"No, it's not..." Castiel shakes his head as if telling himself not to finish the sentence, instead just hugging Dean back.

"Then what is it?" Dean asks softly.

Castiel takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to say it. "The bombing happened on Father's Day," he mumbles, and just saying it somehow makes it worse. He's never called it a bombing out loud before. He's never called it a terrorist attack. He's barely spoken of it at all. And here he is, a year later, and he still can't call it what it is.

"Oh, Cas, I'm sorry," Dean says. "I didn't realize that was..."

"So it's been a year?" Castiel says quietly.

Dean hesitates, probably wondering how he can answer that without making things worse. He finally decides to go with the truth. "A year ago from tomorrow."

"How many people were hurt?" Castiel asks. "They have to have an official count by now."

"Cas —"

"Dean, I need to know," Castiel says. He needs to know how many people were injured because of him; how many lost their lives.

Dean sighs quietly. "Just over 250."

"How many of them died?" Castiel asks.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, Cas," Dean says.

"How many?" Castiel asks again.

"37."

Castiel lets out a long breath but doesn't say anything. 37 people died that day. 37 people went to his show to have a good time, and then they died.

"Cas?" Dean takes a step back to look at him, his hands on the boy's shoulders.

Castiel looks up at the light, trying to keep the tears welling up in his eyes from falling.

"Cas, sweetie, are you okay?" Dean asks, more insistent this time.

Castiel meets his gaze and nods slightly, but the tear falling down his cheek says otherwise.

"Let's go sit down, okay?" Dean says. "Come on."

Dean puts an arm around him and leads him to the couch in the living room. They sit down together, and Castiel props his head up on his hand, staring at the wall ahead of him blankly.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean says softly. "I didn't mean to remind you."

"I know."

They sit in silence for a few moments. After a brief pause, Dean speaks again.

"I know you haven't really talked about it since it happened," he says, "but if you want to, I'll listen. Just say the word."

"No."

Dean nods slowly. "Well, I figured I'd offer, in case you change your mind —"

"No."

"Okay." Dean puts an arm around him, doubtlessly expecting him to lean into him like he usually does, but he doesn't. Dean sighs and himself and takes his arm away.

They sit in silence for a minute or two. After the pause, Dean speaks again.

"Maybe it's time to try to find you a therapist," he suggests, sounding a bit timid with it.

"No."

"I'm just thinking —" Dean begins.

"No."

"But —"

"No."

"Maybe you should just think about it for a minute," Dean says. "It might help you."

"It won't," Castiel says, and just the fact that it's not the word "no" seems to give Dean a little bit of hope.

"You don't know that," Dean says. "Maybe —"

"It won't," Castiel repeats. "There's literally nothing that would make this better. They could tell me that I'm okay, but that won't change the fact that over 200 people aren't. They could tell me it's in the past, but that won't change the fact that there are hundreds of people still mourning their loved ones. They could tell me over and over that it's not my fault, but that won't change the fact that none of them would have been there if it wasn't for me."

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Dean says. "It's not your fault, Cas. It's no one's fault but the people that planted the bombs."

"You can say that all you want, but that doesn't mean I'm going to fall for it," Castiel says. "None of them would have been in that stadium if it wasn't for me."

"No, they would have been in a different stadium, and a different group of people would have gotten hurt," Dean says. "They didn't plant those bombs because of you. They did it because they're sadistic, and would have been just as happy doing it at a different concert."

"And I'm sure that will be a great comfort to the families of the people that died that day," Castiel says sarcastically.

Dean just sighs and doesn't say anything else.