Castiel does take the next day off, mostly because he's not entirely sure he's ready to face Jody again. Then it's the weekend, and he's fortunate enough not to be on call so he gets to relax. By the time Sunday night rolls around, he's all caught up on The Walking Dead, not because he enjoys it but because Charlie will not shut up about it and he'd like to have some idea of what she's talking about.

Other than a few brief texts to Charlie, he basically spends the weekend in solitary confinement. He has absolutely no desire to talk to anyone, and that still rings true come Monday morning. Unfortunately, he can only fake sick for so long before someone calls his bluff, so that's the end of his vacation.

Castiel swings by Charlie's, and she walks out with two homemade coffees. She hands him one before either of them have said a word, and Castiel takes a sip immediately. Ah, caffeine. It truly is one of life's greatest gifts.

Charlie sits down and closes the door, almost spilling her own drink in the process. "Feeling better?"

"Much," Castiel replies. "I think I just needed a very long nap." He told her that yesterday, too, but apparently that wasn't enough. It's nice to know she cares that much, at least.

"God, me the fuck too," Charlie mutters. "You ready to do some prep work?"

"Kill me," Castiel deadpans. One of the "suspects" (read: murderers) they apprehended is going to court next week, and even though he thinks their case is solid, he's going to be stressing out about it until it ends -- hopefully with a "guilty" verdict.

"I would," she says, "but then I'd have to go at it alone and I don't really feel like picking up dead-you's slack."

"Fair point," Castiel says.

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Castiel doesn't think anything of it. Why would he? Morning drives are usually fairly quiet; they're both half-asleep and they don't have the events of the day to discuss.

After a few minutes, Charlie puts her cup down and turns to look at him. "Can I ask you a question that might sound insensitive and-slash-or victim-blamey but is actually just because I'm really curious?"

"Um..." Castiel purses his lips. He's not sure he likes the sound of this, but he can't exactly say "no," so he reluctantly says, "I guess so."

"Cool," she says. "Why did you — I mean, how did Dean Winchester make you — err, why..." she groans. "Words."

"Words," Castiel replies sympathetically. At least he knows the question is about Dean, though. It won't catch him completely off his guard.

Charlie takes a deep breath just for show and tries again. "You said you were with Dean Winchester for six years. Why did it take you six years to leave?"

Castiel doesn't respond for a few moments. He's not entirely sure he knows how to. What type of answer is she looking for?

"And, I mean, I'm not blaming you or anything," Charlie adds quickly. "I know it's not easy to leave abusive partners —"

"He wasn't abusive," Castiel interrupts. That might be where the confusion came from.

"I don't necessarily mean physically," Charlie says. "I mean, like, emotionally. Manipulative and guilt-trippy and —"

"He really wasn't any of that," Castiel says. "He was just..." He shrugs. "A guy." He glances over to see her gaping at him. He guesses he can't really blame her. For a guy no one's really seen, Dean does have quite the reputation.

"But he's Dean Winchester," Charlie says. "There's no way he could hold a healthy relationship. Hell, he threatened to blow your brains out on Thursday. That strikes me as very..." She trails off, letting him finish the sentence himself.

"Okay, that was a little..." He trails off as well. He has a general idea of 'what it was,' but he doesn't know how to verbalize it beyond just Dean being Dean. He's decently sure Dean never actually considered shooting him, so at least he has that going for him. "But he was honestly a pretty decent boyfriend. A little rough around the edges, but decent nonetheless."

Admittedly, that's really downplaying their relationship. Dean was everything he could have asked for at the time. He was family. He was home. When they were moving around, hopping between abandoned buildings for months before finally settling down, Dean was always there. CastieI knew that he could turn to him for anything and everything.

"Oh," Charlie says, and she seems a little uncomfortable. "Well, I mean, I guess that's good."

This time when they lapse into silence, it's much less comfortable. Castiel drums his fingers on the steering wheel absentmindedly as he drives. Logically he knows it isn't filling the space, but at least it feels like it is.

Charlie gazes out the window for the remainder of the ride. It's only a few minutes; they both live near the station so the drive never lasts long. She doesn't look back over at him until he's pulling into a parking space — which he does beautifully, if he does say so himself.

"Nice ring," Charlie remarks.

CastieI's eyes go wide. He completely forgot he was still wearing that. He meant to put it in a drawer in case Dean decided to come back for it, but he never got around to it. He'd always forget about it until he was taking a shower or going to bed and too far away from any safe place for it to be worth the extra steps. It's a little late for that now.

"I don't think I've seen you wear a ring before," Charlie adds.

Castiel racks his brain for an excuse. "Yeah, I..." He twists the ring around on his finger nervously. It doesn't even have to be a good excuse as long as he doesn't flat-out admit it was Dean's. It shouldn't be this hard. "I found it in a drawer over the weekend, thought it looked cool."

"And you were absolutely right about that," Charlie says, not the least bit suspicious. Crisis averted. "Now c'mon, let's go do work and shit."

Castiel groans. "God, not work and shit."

Charlie reaches over to give him a playful pat on the head. "I know. I hate work and shit, too."