Title: Call Out
Author: Lucifer Rosemaunt
Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own Supernatural... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Rating: K
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (barely)
Warnings: I don't think there's any spoilers.
Summary: Dean has abandonment issues. Maybe an angel can help with that.

A/N: First time writing a spn fic. New to the fandom, but I figure why not. This is livejournal posting format for me, so I figure I might as well diverge from my norm.


When Dean opens his eyes from the visions of hell and his heart refuses to stop pounding against his chest, he hopes, almost prays (almost), that only the physical discomfort from the memories will linger.

However, when his heart finally does slow and his breathing evens out, it is the all too familiar feeling of abandonment that has traveled with him to hell and back that keeps him awake and staring at the now common sight of the empty bed beside his. It doesn't matter that he has calmed down though since the pain from this emotion is strong enough to be physical: the tightening of his stomach muscles, the tension in his shoulders, and the constriction of his throat – even the shoulder where Castiel had gripped him hurts.

If anyone asked, he would say that he has long since gotten over such feelings, 'abandonment' was so melodramatic, probably some time around when Sammy had finally come back to the family business. While John's abandonment had been painful, it was his brother's absence that had always been unsettling for him. When Sam had left for college, Dean had felt lost; after all, his main purpose for living had chosen to leave. He hadn't been good enough.

He hadn't been able to hold a grudge against him though. It had been easy to forgive him actually, especially when all those hurt feelings had disappeared with just a mere sight of his brother or the knowledge that Sam was riding shotgun with him towards the next hunt. Dean had easily forgiven Sam every time he said he was going to return to school, forgiven him every time that he'd intentionally or unintentionally left him. And, for a while, there hadn't been anything to forgive.

Things are different this time around. The feeling doesn't go away when he looks at Sam. Just knowing that Sam will be riding shotgun in the morning isn't enough anymore. To make matters worse, Dean can't seem to shake this feeling at all. Everyone leaves him in the end. That's what was going to happen – his mother, his father, and even Sammy had left him; they all leave him eventually.

Even the angel that had gone through all the trouble of going to hell to save him left him to his own devices until he was ordered to appear. It's pathetic really, because the thought that he has his very own guardian angel had crossed his mind, and it wasn't even accompanied with disbelief or sarcasm. The constant reminder of Castiel's presence, the only marking left on his body, doesn't help very much.

He knows he's deluding himself wanting something constant, something more, selfish even, when the only thing in his life that is constant is the fact that he has to watch over Sammy even if his brother doesn't want the help.

And he hates himself for feeling like this because he's stronger than that. Every time Dean looks at him though, he can't help but feel like he's been yelling out "Sam" over and over again to uncaring ears ever since he was four years old – just to keep Sam safe, just to protect him, to do everything for him. But Sam keeps leaving. They all keep leaving.

Dean doesn't want to keep calling out to someone who won't listen to him.

"Castiel," he says aloud before he really thinks about it.

It's only seconds later when he realizes that it was the rustle of cloth from the angel's trench coat that had actually alerted him to his presence. He's getting better at keeping up with Castiel's appearing-disappearing act.

"What do you want now?" Dean doesn't even try to conceal his annoyance. He sighs loudly, hopefully loud enough that the angel hears it and takes the hint. A dreamless sleep is the only thing he really wants. He doesn't think he can handle any God directives right now. Castiel doesn't leave though.

When Dean receives no answer, he sits up to look expectantly at the angel who's standing near the foot of his bed, not far enough. As expected, he's in his holy tax accountant outfit, his expression still rather blank. Though, admittedly, Dean can't say blank since he's sure there's some emotion there; he just can't rightly name it. Maybe impassive, it wasn't uncaring.

"Well?" Dean asks again.

Castiel tilts his head to the side and looks at him in slight confusion. It's the slight raise of the eyebrows that tips off that particular emotion, and Dean spares a thought to wonder how long it would take to form a complete angel decoder for expressions; he knows he's seen this one when they'd first met.

"Are you going to start miming something? Because some of us can't read minds," Dean pushes himself higher on the bed so that he can lean on the headboard instead of his arms.

Castiel's eyes narrow when he finally responds, "You were calling me."

Scoffing, Dean isn't sure if he's hearing things. "What? When?"


"I don't know if you need to get your ears checked, but I didn't call you."

Castiel pauses to consider this. "No," he shakes his head, "I'm certain I heard you."

"Well, you're wrong," Dean finds that he can't stop talking when Castiel begins to walk close the distance between them, "and when the hell do you come at a simple call because I'm pretty sure there've been several times when a little angelic backup would have come in handy."

Dean's almost convinced that Castiel's the slightest bit amused, if not smug with himself for the reaction he's getting out of Dean. He's almost certain that Castiel's doing it on purpose. However, he's never seen the angel amused before, so he could be wrong. And, he can't stop talking. It seems to be the better alternative to silence.

"You know, I'll put you on my fave five, or do you prefer something like the bat signal." He's sure the angel doesn't get his references, but Dean's just trying to fight the sudden need to shift further away from Castiel as the angel stands directly beside him. The steady gaze is enough to make him wish he could read the angel's mind and figure out what he's planning. Dean has the image of those two fingers reaching out to put him to sleep. God only knew where he would end up then. Castiel doesn't reach out though, simply stands there, watching. "That of course would only work if you're watching the skies."

"I'm always watching."

Dean knows what Castiel means, and it's not the skies he's watching. There was no joking in his voice – did angels ever joke around – and Dean's almost grateful for it. Because as creepy and stalkerish as that should've been, he actually feels some of the tension in his shoulder's relieve and the muscles in his stomach relax.

"I gripped you tight…"

Dean cuts him off immediately because he doesn't want to hear him say anything else that should by all means be considered perverted but his mind translates as comforting, "Yeah, yeah, perdition and everything. I remember."

He momentarily looks away because the muscles in his stomach are tightening again and he's pretty sure it has more to do with Castiel's proximity than any lingering thoughts of abandonment.

Though low, Castiel's words are painfully clear. "I never said I'd let go."

Dean's head snaps up, but Castiel's already gone.

Word count: 1,238

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Endnote: That was awkward for me to write. I'm sure it could've gone better, but here it is regardless.