#here’s my deal to myself though. finish this infomercial and do laundry and do the dishes and sweep

[southislandwren]

Ah my poor decision making skills are rearing their ugly head. Guess who just bought cult of the lamb: cultist edition the day before finals week

[mattzerella-sticks]

Bait & Tackle, Castiel-centric, Dean/Cas fic, heavy angst, TW: suicidal thoughts, coda to 15x06 “Golden Time”

Cas had a friend who saw the meditative benefits to fishing. If only he agreed, and still could call Dean a friend. If only he could call Dean something more. Alas none of that was possible, so he sat on a dock every day with a fishing pole in hand. Hoping that he can finally catch his first fish.

But how long can you toss your line out and expect something to happen that never does? Doing it again and again can drive you to the breaking point.

What happens when you shatter?

Cas feels the sun set behind him, the pinkish hue of the sky bleeding through the blue. Stray beams filtered through blanketing clouds strike the strip of skin between his collar and hairline. He rubs at it, massaging at the ache that settled there earlier in the day. While annoying to deal with Cas chooses to wait the pain out. Careful not to expend any of his dwindling grace on something so simple. When finished, he returns his hand to the fishing pole resting on his lap.

“Getting late,” a man says from nearby, dragging Cas’s attention away from the lake. A common practitioner of the sport, Cas met him on his first day at the cabin. Spoke with him between long dry spells where nothing bit either of their lines. In his sixties, the man’s silver beard stretched far below his chest. Long hair swept neatly under his bucket hat. Usually he wore casual shirts with witty sayings, like today’s ‘Shove It Up Your Bass!’ For the unusual amount of time they spent in each other’s company, though, Cas never asked for his name. And the stranger paid Cas the same respectful indifference. “Fish’ll hardly be active now.”

Cas nods, “I might stay here a bit longer.”

“Of course,” he smiles, hitching his gear over his shoulder, “Nothing more peaceful than a body of water at twilight. I’ll leave you to it then. Same time tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

He left Cas, footsteps light on the pier until they disappeared into the ground. Now alone, Cas allowed himself the luxury of dulling his senses. Limiting his grace to only on what he could see and sense in his line of sight. Like putting blinders on a racehorse. Cas needs the extra effort, otherwise he will be returning to his cabin without catching anything.

Again.

If it takes all night Cas will stay rooted to the pier. If he needs to dive into the lake and catch one with his bare hands, he will. If Chuck appears with a fish in hand, offering it only if Cas prays, his knees will buckle without question.

Cas cannot screw this up.

One star sets and a million take its place, dotting the sky like freckles across soft skin. He clears his head of those thoughts, leaning forward in his seat. Tightens his grip on the fishing pole and quells the yawn bubbling in his chest before it can burst.

Fighting exhaustion is new territory, but Cas will not relent. Fishing a welcome alternative to the chaos of sleep. Where any possibility comes to life when he allows humanity to color his actions.

The first night in the cabin he fell asleep between infomercials. One moment learning about how easily knives can dull after constant use and the next staring into familiar green eyes, hard as the last time he saw them.

Their last encounter looped frequently in his mind, but given the wild ranges of sleep that memory grew and twisted into something unrecognizable. Dean’s face shifted into something crueler, and his sharp words were more precise. An intent to maim instead of wound driving his actions, carving into Cas like a frog in a science class. In those dreams Cas didn’t move on, unable to. Glued to the floor while Dean transformed into a hellhound and tore him limb from limb. The last thing he saw were those green eyes and then he woke up. Public access playing, showing a man and two women trying to cook something live.

Hours passed with a snarling Dean trapped in his mind, unable to forget. That dream haunted him most nights when the need for sleep overpowered him.

But it wasn’t the dream Cas feared.

Two nights ago Cas laid on the bed, eyes drifting shut. Preparing himself for the hellscape most likely greeting him.

His dream placed him in another area of the Bunker entirely. A familiar room, although he never spent too much time there. It wasn’t his . Except waking up on the bed, dressed in a black shirt and hot dog pajama pants that certainly weren’t normally part of his wardrobe, he never felt more right . Finding the other side empty, Cas shuffled from the room and followed the enticing smell of bacon drifting out the kitchen.

He froze under an entryway. Sam sat at the table across from Jack, discussing a section in the book while the younger boy happily ate his cereal. Mary carried a plate of bacon over to them, ruffling Sam’s hair while she took her seat.

And over by the stove, draped in his apron, stood Dean. The other man smiled at him like he used to, gaze soft in their adoration. Dean beckoned him closer, Cas unable to resist. Cas floated over and wraps his arms around the other man’s waist. Buried his nose into his collarbone and breathed him in deeply. Delighting in the mix of sweet from the laundry detergent and savory from the bacon that sticks to his skin. Kisses the skin there, lips curling hearing Dean’s laughter.

Learning it was a dream nearly broke Cas. He spent the entirety of that day holed in the cabin, wrapped in the blankets.

His hands tremble thinking about it. Cas steadies them, thinking of fish and nothing else. Fish to catch. To release. To cook or to display. To tell his friend when he sees him again. To do absolutely anything with.

Once he catches a fish than anything is possible.

At least two more hours pass with nothing biting. Cas, used to waiting, finds his patience thinning. He taps his foot rapidly against the deck. “Is it always like this?” he asks himself, mumble echoing across the placid lake, “Or is it me? Will I always be waiting for nothing ?”

Cas promised he would move on. It’s a poor show of it.

In fairness, Cas’s response served only to wound Dean as harsh as the other man did him. Given the space to breathe, however, Cas realized after all that talk he had nothing to show for it. Spent days driving across America, stopping only to refill his truck until he finally decided to pitch his flag down when he heard of a cabin for rent. A cabin with easy access to one of the most plentiful lakes in forty-eight states.

A claim Cas proves untrue with each passing day.

“One of the most relaxing things you can do,” he growls, stretching his legs until they threaten to slip off the dock. “Peaceful… clears your mind… I don’t know why I talked myself into doing this.”

Lies. Cas saw the lake and the dock and reflected on simpler times. When the world was only a man, an angel, and the scant inches between them.

Even when he moves on, he fails.

He frowns at the water, barely visible given his dwindling powers. It looks more like ink than the liquid mirror during daytime. Reminds him of another far off place, and the invitation of sleep beckons even louder.

Cas pinches his leg, stubborn until the end. Steels his nerves and brushes the sleep from his shoulders. “This is my mission,” he says, “All that matters is the fish… if I could catch one fish…”

The lake answers. Something tugs on his line, startling Cas. He stares at the pole while it bends towards the water. A beat passes before he realizes what that means. Cas jumps from his chair, knocking the cheap plastic to the ground and reels his line in. Struggles when the fish matches his strength. Abuses his limited supply of grace to overpower it.

Zip zip zip zip zip . His line drifts closer, and Cas feels his face stretch with the foreign appearance of a smile. With one last spin of the reel and a tug on the pole, Cas drags his hook from the water.

He sinks to his knees. His smile vanishes in the next instant, fading like it was never there. Cas snatches the hook and studies the small, metal curve. Aware that his bait is gone, and the fish escaped. Nothing like he pictured. Nothing like he was told would happen.

Nothing went right.

Could he really blame the fish for that?

Cas chuckles. A cruel, hollow sound that starts low in this chest before drifting higher. Amplifies when he throws his head back with wild abandon. Birds scatter nearby, their crows joining his crazed laughter. Soon it chokes off, melting into sobs. Raindrops stain his cheeks, only the clouds disappeared along with the sun.

He lets go of the pole, it rolling close enough to the edge to cause worry. Except it doesn’t fall in. Stays there to remind Cas how he failed at the simple task of catching a fish. How he failed to provide. How he failed his family, his love, and most importantly - himself .

His neck droops and Cas finds himself staring at the lake again. A voice whispers in his mind, tells himself how easy it would be to dive in and never leave. Surrounded by all that water, hidden at the bottom, no one would find him. That he probably has enough grace left in him to allow for a peaceful few years with all the fish he cannot catch. “There’s nothing for me here, anyway,” Cas says, hand slowly reaching for the edge.

It pauses. Cas’s grace ignites in his eyes, and he can clearly see for the first time.

A perfect reflection greets him, Cas gaping at his own face. His head tilts to the side while he studies it. Anger boils his stomach the longer he looks at himself and distorts his features. “You’re a failure,” he says, snarling at the water, “You can’t do anything right. You can’t catch a fish, can't protect your family, and you can’t keep the trust of the man you love. No matter what you do it’s never right, never good enough. You don’t belong anywhere you’re a… you’re a… a fish out of water -”

Cas quiets, clarity poking through the dense fog of hatred clouding his mind. He relaxes on his haunches, away from his reflection. Stunned by the overwhelming ridiculousness of the situation. How easily he let himself spiral because of one false catch.

Venom drips down the corners of his mouth while Cas calms himself. Each measured breath helps douse the vicious flame that threatened to burn him. In the ash, positive thoughts can re-grow.

“You are not a failure,” he starts, “you are allowed to fail, but that doesn’t make you a failure. Failing is a natural part of existence. The only true failure comes in giving up. If you give up, it means you’re letting those who wish to see you broken win. It tells them that you are powerless to stop them. But you’re not. As long as you’re there to greet the sun each day, you haven’t failed. They haven't won.”

“And the ones who have failed,” he stutters on this next bit, heart twisting in knots, “the ones who have failed you are those who aren’t able to provide you with what you need.” Cas glances at the water again, green dots peering up at him. “Who take but cannot give in return. Sometimes you cannot fix this and that’s okay. The actions of others are not your fault. In this world we only have true control over one thing… and that is ourselves.”

A Gas n Sip display held a collection of self-help CDs that Castiel blew all his cash on. Wore his speakers thin by playing them without pause. They helped provide a safety net in his darkest moments, little nuggets of wisdom like the mantras he repeated scattered throughout.

Cas picks up his pole and stands. Sunlight begins cresting over the trees, morning arriving without fanfare. “Y’know,” he says, “maybe it’s not me… or the fish. Maybe it’s something else.”

Folding his chair, Cas strolls back to his truck and places his gear inside. “It could be anything…”

He looks at the lake one more time, storm settling inside his chest. Cas leans against his truck bed, the tiniest of smiles reappearing on his face. “It’s not my fault.”

The sun fully rises and Cas leaves.