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By the time Cas came back, stumbling through the gaping, slurping hole of the Empty and collapsing on the floor of the Bunker, Dean knew that he was in love with him.
Cas had been gone for one agonizing year, and in that time, the fragments of what Dean knew he felt for Cas had stitched themselves together, revealing a whole goddamn tapestry worth hanging in the Louvre. Or wherever people put tapestries.
There was no way Dean was ready for everything he wanted. But he was determined— more resolved than he had ever been about anything— that he was finally going to be someone Cas never had to doubt. Someone who never made Cas doubt himself.
And then there he was, Cas, still dripping with black slime, gasping for air on the floor of the bunker. Jack stood, hands out in front of him, face screwed up in concentration as he forced the Empty closed. Sam hovered with a knife in one hand, braced for a fight. Dean didn’t have eyes for any of this. He slid to his knees and reached for Cas, his name spilling over and over from his lips.
Cas lifted his head when Dean’s hand made contact with his shoulder. For a moment his gaze was distant, his face screwed up against the light, and he flinched back.
“Cas,” Dean breathed, hovering, his heart hammering out of his chest. Breaking. Shattering. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.”
When Dean’s hands landed on Cas’s shoulders again, Cas didn’t flinch away. Slowly, light and recognition filtered back into his eyes. Dean watched the lines smooth across his face, watched the hunted look clear away just for a moment.
“You’re home,” Dean said, face breaking out into a painful smile. “You’re home. I’ll take care of this, okay?”
I’ll take care of you .
And that was what Dean did. He and Sam lifted Cas and guided him to the bathroom, Jack trailing eagerly behind.
“I’ll help him,” Dean said when they reached the bathroom. “You two get his room ready, okay? And bring me some clean clothes.”
Sam and Jack brought the clothes and left, shutting the door behind them. Dean met Cas’s gaze where he sat on the toilet, struggling to hold himself upright. Cas smiled at him, a tiny thing, but it warmed Dean to the core.
“Hey,” he said, squeezing Cas’s shoulder.
Cas still didn’t speak. He didn’t speak as Dean carefully removed his trenchcoat, then unbuttoned his shirt. Dean kept up a steady stream of murmurs, telling Cas where he was going to put his hands, giving Cas time to protest, but Cas seemed to be beyond stubbornness or embarrassment. It scared Dean a little, seeing him so silent and depleted and pliant. But he was relieved Cas was letting him help. Letting him show how gentle he could be.
“On your feet now,” Dean said, hoisting Cas up by the armpit. He found that if Cas leaned on the sink, he could mostly hold himself upright. “There you go.”
He undid Cas’s belt and wrangled him out of his pants, leaving his boxers on.
Maneuvering Cas into the water was a challenge, and keeping him standing in there was harder. In the end, Dean stripped down to his boxers and got in too. He used his body to hold Cas upright, his chest pressed against Cas’s spine, and did his best to scrub the Empty goo from Cas’s hair. When Dean pressed a bar of soap into his hand, Cas was mostly able to clean his own body. He made a soft humming sound when the hot water touched his face, the first sound he’d made since they got him back.
“Yeah,” Dean said into Cas’s hair. “Water pressure’s not bad, is it?”
He helped Cas out of the shower and towelled him off with brisk, gentle strokes. He couldn’t resist ruffling Cas’s head a little as he dried his hair, and he smiled when Cas scrunched up his nose.
Clean and dry and dressed in Sam’s old pajamas, Cas allowed Dean to half-guide, half-carry him to his room. He nearly tripped over the trailing legs of the flannel pants— Dean made a note to give Cas his own clothes next time. They’d fit better.
In the room the bed was freshly made, and Jack hovered there, fluffing the pillows unnecessarily. He looked up when they entered, hope and trepidation mixed on his face.
“He’s okay,” Dean said, lowering Cas onto the bed. “He just needs some rest.”
Jack nodded, biting his lip. “Castiel, please feel better soon.” He reached for Cas’s limp hand and squeezed it.
Cas’s eyes flickered and landed on Jack’s face. “Jack,” he said softly, his voice hoarse.
A smile lit across Jack’s face, and he turned to Dean, tears gathering in his eyes. Dean cleared his throat against the tightening of his own chest. He clapped Jack on the shoulder.
“Let’s leave him to it, okay?”
Together they got Cas under the blankets and tucked them up around his chin. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Cas’s body went limp, and his breathing slowed. Dean wanted very badly to stroke the damp hair falling across his forehead, but he was keenly aware of Jack watching him as he watched Cas.
“Is he— is he human?” Dean asked.
“No,” Jack said. “Not entirely. He’s…”
Dean turned to see Jack frowning.
“He’s what?”
“I don’t think there’s been anything like him before. He’s an angel, and he’s human. He’s just...Castiel.”
Dean smiled. “You got that right.”
All through dinner, Dean could barely sit still. He kept hopping to his feet to get more water or make sure the oven was turned off or grab the salt from the kitchen. Finally, Sam lost it.
“Dude, I need you to sit down and stay there,” he snapped.
Dean froze halfway out of his chair. “Geez, okay.”
Sam sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just— you’re making me jumpy.”
“Right. Yeah. My bad.” Dean went back to picking at his food. He had no appetite, and not for all the usual reasons he’d had no appetite over the past year. Whatever was coursing through his veins, he thought he’d never be hungry again.
There was a loud clatter as Jack, reaching for the potatoes, sent his cup flying. Sam jumped and swore under his breath.
“Oops,” Jack said. He stared despondently at the puddle of milk spreading across the table and dribbling onto the floor.
Dean looked from Sam’s shoulders bunched around his ears to Jack’s wary expression. It hit him with a sudden pang how much of a mess they were— exactly what kind of a mess Cas was coming back to.
Something had shifted since Chuck’s power loosened its hold on them. Sam was flinching at everything these days, back to rubbing his palm like he used to when Lucifer was haunting his head. He probably thought Dean didn’t notice, but he did.
Jack couldn’t stand any kind of conflict, always looked ten seconds away from crawling under the table when Dean got angry, and he was scared as hell of making mistakes.
And Dean— well, that was a can of worms it was better not to glance at, let alone open. Every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, he saw a stranger staring back. It made him dizzy. And that wasn’t even starting on the way a lifetime’s worth of aches and pains had settled into his bones. He limped more than he walked these days.
Dean dragged a deep breath in, then out. He got to his feet— slowly this time— and circled around the table to Jack, pulling the dish towel off his shoulder where he always kept it when he was cooking.
“No big deal,” he said, leaning over Jack to sop up the milk.
Jack looked up at him, hesitant. Dean picked up the overturned cup and gestured for Jack to stand.
“Let’s go get you some more. Meat’s kind of dry tonight, don’t want you choking or anything.”
“The meat’s good,” Jack said quickly, jumping to his feet.
Dean smiled at him and started towards the kitchen with the wet towel over his arm and the cup in his hand. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder on the way.
“Why don’t you head upstairs for a bit?” he said in a low voice.
Sam nodded.
In the kitchen, Dean poured a new glass of milk and handed it to Jack, who seemed calmer now. He pulled himself up onto one of the barstools and swung his feet while he drank. It was funny sometimes to see his little kid mannerisms in his grown-up body, but Dean was getting used to it. He was glad Jack hadn’t stopped acting like a kid yet.
“Is Sam okay?” Jack asked.
Dean, who had gotten distracted by the dishes and started scrubbing at a pot in the sink, thought about lying. But as much as Jack acted like a kid, he was smart as anything, and after what he’d been through, he deserved the truth. Or some of it anyway.
“He’s the same amount of okay as the rest of us,” Dean said.
“Oh,” Jack said, as if that made perfect sense. “I didn’t mean to scare him.”
“You didn’t. Wasn’t your fault.”
“I wish...I wish I could help.”
Dean let the sponge fall into the soapy pot and turned off the water. He reached for the dish towel to dry his hands before he remembered it was soaked with milk and wiped them on his jeans instead. He turned to face Jack, hands flat on the counter.
A year ago, he would have had a hell of a time trying to make his way through this conversation without setting off any bombs. Hell, a year ago he would have snapped at Jack for spilling the milk, then gone off to mope in his room about it. But he’d been working on doing...not that.
“You help,” he said, making sure he caught Jack’s eye. “He likes having you around. We all do.”
Jack ducked his head with a shy smile. It turned Dean’s insides to goo. Dammit, when did he get so soft?
“Now go finish your dinner before it gets cold. And watch your elbows.”
It was late by the time everyone finished eating and Dean was done washing up. Jack offered to help like he always did, but Dean sent him off to bed. He wanted the time alone in the kitchen, and he wanted something to do with his hands. He couldn’t get his mind off the bed upstairs with Cas in it. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.
There had been five months between the day Dean lost Cas and the day Jack showed up on the Bunker’s doorstep and said he had a plan to bring him back. In those five months, Dean had just about spiralled to hell. He knew himself well enough to know that he was at his worst when he was hurting, but knowing it didn’t change things. He would do anything to circumvent the pain: drinking, disappearing days at a time, hurling his feelings at anyone who dared to come near him.
When he heard Cas was coming back, his first thought was, not to this. He can’t come back to this .
He couldn’t come back to Dean starting his day with a beer or three and ending it with whiskey. To Dean and Sam tiptoeing around each other in the Bunker, not fighting but somehow unable to find anything to say to each other. Cas couldn’t come back to Jack living off in Heaven, barely able to meet Dean’s eye.
It wasn’t exactly an epiphany, but it was a spark. It put the fight back in Dean, the fight to try and keep trying even when he messed up over and over and over again. It gave him the nudge to get over himself enough to ask Jack to stay. To bite his tongue when he wanted to lash out. To realize that Sam rubbed his palm more when Dean yelled. To try and stop.
It was seven more months before Jack’s plan actually came to fruition, before Cas returned, and Dean had done everything he could to be ready.
He was under no illusions that things were perfect. But he hoped— God he hoped— it was good enough for Cas.
Finished with the dishes, Dean dried his hands and wandered through the lower floors of the bunker, turning out lights. Nobody ever remembered to turn out the damn lights. Then he headed upstairs to his room. He paused outside of Cas’s door when he passed and hovered for a moment, waiting to see if he could hear Cas breathing. He wanted to go in, to check on him, but then he would be tempted to wake Cas. Poor guy needed his sleep.
Instead he kept walking, and closed himself in his own room. He leaned back against the door, his head hitting the wood with a faint thunk . As if it had been waiting for him to let his guard down, the weight of everything that had happened fell over him. He let out a long, shuddering breath. Cas was back. Cas was just down the hall, breathing, warm and alive. Safe . Dean could still feel the warmth of his shoulders pressed into Dean’s chest, the hot water sluicing between them, Cas’s hair tickling Dean’s cheek. He closed his eyes and swallowed against the electric pulse that reverberated through him at the memory. It was tinged with arousal, but it was so much more than that. It was more than Dean thought he knew how to feel. A tender, desperate wanting that yawned so big Dean was afraid he might be swallowed whole.
Pushing off the door, Dean began to pace. It was too big to keep inside him. He could barely keep himself from dashing back down the hall to Cas’s room and shaking him awake just to tell him— everything. But he had promised himself he wouldn’t go dumping this on Cas. Not yet. He had it all planned out. Literally planned out and written down in an old composition notebook he picked up at a drug store to write his grocery lists in.
Dean yanked open the drawer of his nightstand and fished out the notebook, flipping to a page close to the back. He needed a reminder. There it was, in his own crooked handwriting:
1. Tell him I want him to stay.
2. I can’t give him a good answer yet but I will.
3. Breakfast in bed?
4. Sweaters
5. Watch HIS movies
6. Roller coaster with Jack
7. Drives
8. No yelling
It wasn’t exactly a masterpiece or anything, but it was Dean’s Bible at this point. It was what he was holding himself to.
Dean knew he wanted what he was pretty sure Cas wanted, but the idea of jumping in headfirst, zero to one hundred, scared him so bad it made him physically sick. At first that had fucked him up. What if he loved Cas but he was too fucked up to ever have him without hurting him? Just one more tragic story, blah blah blah.
It was Eileen who had talked sense into him without even meaning to. She’d been over at the Bunker one week a couple months before Cas returned, spending time with Sam and making use of the library. Dean had come downstairs one morning just in time for Sam to stalk past him in a huff, and he turned the corner to find Eileen in the kitchen, shovelling burnt eggs into her mouth with way too much aggression. Dean hadn’t heard any yelling (they must have been signing) but it was clear they’d just had a pretty bad fight.
Ignoring the knots twisting in his stomach, Dean waved to get Eileen’s attention.
“Trouble in paradise?”
She glowered. “Your brother is really fucking stubborn.”
Dean snorted and sank onto the barstool across from her. “Tell me about it.”
Eileen poked at her eggs some more, and shook her head in frustration. She put down her fork and signed as she spoke. “I don’t know, maybe this one was my fault. I think I pushed him too fast.”
Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Not like that . I just mean—” Her hands hovered for a moment, uncertain. “We both have things that are hard for us. I want him to just hurry up and feel safe already, but that’s not fair.”
Dean shrugged. “Sounds fair to me. I mean, it’s you . You’re the best thing that’s happened to him. What’s he got to be freaked about?”
Eileen slumped. “I wish it was that easy.”
“Well, why can’t it be?”
“Because it isn’t.” Something softened in Eileen, and she pushed away her plate of eggs. When she started signing again, her movements were slower, gentler. “I just have to remember it’s not all or nothing. Especially not for fucked up people like us.”
Dean didn’t know what to say to that. He offered to make Eileen some eggs that were actually edible, and she thanked him. They ate together and talked about bullshit like they usually did. Made each other laugh.
By the next day, Eileen and Sam had worked out whatever their problem was— or at least it seemed that way. They were back to making sickening eyes at each other when they thought Dean wasn’t looking.
But Eileen’s words stuck with Dean. It’s not all or nothing . Dean really, really didn’t want to fuck things up with Cas. Not just because he didn’t want to lose him, but because Cas deserved better than that. So if he couldn’t give him all , it was better to focus on giving something . He could do something . Something in between pinning Cas against a wall and...well, pinning Cas against a wall.
He just hadn’t realized that with Cas physically here, it would be so hard to keep from spilling everything. The hard part was usually getting words out, but right now it was so much harder to keep them in. Practically vibrating with everything he couldn’t say, Dean stood up, stretching out his aching back and rolling his clicking joints. Despite everything, or maybe because of it, he felt completely wrung out. Once he got into bed, he fell asleep surprisingly quickly.
Dean was startled awake around five in the morning by a loud crash. He rocketed out of bed and tore out of his room half-conscious. Bleary-eyed, heart pounding, he stumbled towards the sound of the crash and burst into Cas’s bedroom.
Except he didn’t realize it was Cas’s bedroom— in his panicked, half-asleep state he had forgotten Cas was back.
He lurched to a stop, his socks carrying him an extra few inches across the tile floor, arms flailing as he tried not to topple over. Cas was crouched beside the bed, the blankets trailing after him, the lamp from the bedside table smashed on the ground. He was pale as a sheet, the circles under his eyes as deep as Dean had ever seen them, and his eyes roved frantically, uncomprehending.
Dean sucked in a deep breath. “Hey, Cas,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
Cas’s mouth opened, then closed.
“You okay there?”
“Dean?” His voice cracked, and he slid further down until his butt hit the floor.
“Yeah, bud.” Dean came closer, keeping his movements slow and predictable. When he got near enough he crouched down and planted himself on the floor across from Cas. His whole body protested at once, but he ignored it, bending his knees awkwardly in the space between them.
Through all of it, Cas didn’t move. His eyes never left Dean’s face. Up close, Dean could see he was trembling, his fingers knotted in the blankets. A lump rose in Dean’s throat, swelling until he could barely speak. He wanted so badly to be touching Cas, but he didn’t want to startle him.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked. “With the Empty?”
Cas nodded jerkily. “My deal. The Empty came. I— But I can’t be here. This can’t be—”
“It’s real,” Dean choked out. “We got you out, Cas. God, I’m sorry it took so long, I swear, I—”
Unable to bear the distance between them any longer he scooted closer, arms outstretched. Cas didn’t shy away, not when Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, and not when Dean pulled him in against his chest and cradled him there, chin tucked into Cas’s hair. Dean closed his eyes. A tear escaped, trailing hot down his cheek, quickly followed by another. Slowly, Cas’s rigid body relaxed, sinking into Dean. His arms circled Dean’s waist and he clutched at his shirt like it was the last solid thing in the world.
I love you , Dean thought. But that was more than something .
“You hungry?” he said. He sniffed quickly and pulled away, regretting it when Cas withdrew, taking his warmth with him.
Cas frowned. “I’m not sure. Am I human?”
“Jack said you’re a bit of both, or something like that.”
Cas’s face lifted. “Jack? I remember— last night. I thought I dreamed it. Jack is here?”
“Yeah. He’s got a lot to fill you in on. We all do. But he’s here.” Dean smiled, and, slowly, almost as if he had forgotten how, Cas smiled too. It illuminated his face, deepening the adorable fucking creases around his eyes.
That’s when it hit Dean: Cas was alive. Really alive. Really here. It was like fireworks in his chest, and he had to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep from punching the air or throwing himself at Cas or bawling or something else stupid. He couldn’t stop the grin, though. It was hard to say how long they both just sat there, smiling at each other.
A loud growl from Cas’s stomach broke the spell.
“I guess that answers that question,” Dean said.
“Indeed.” Cas pushed himself to his feet, hauling the blankets back onto the bed. He looked down at the broken lamp with a sheepish expression. “I was disoriented when I woke up. I may have...flailed.”
“Don’t blame you,” Dean said, grunting as he attempted to stand. He barely got his butt off the ground before his knees informed him he was going no further. “Uh— a little help here?”
Cas blinked at him.
“To stand up.” Dean grit his teeth. “Just give me your hand.”
Cas held out his hand, and Dean gripped it, hauling himself— with many a twinge— back onto his feet. That was the last time he got down on the floor of the Bunker, no matter how much Sam bugged him to try yoga. Embarrassed, and mortified that he was embarrassed, Dean yanked his hand back and gave Cas a tight smile.
“Come on. Food’s downstairs.”
It wasn’t long before Sam stirred, and the ruckus of the reunion in the kitchen woke Jack. When Jack and Cas hugged, Sam teared up. Dean teased him for it, and Sam pointed out that his eyes weren’t exactly dry, but Dean blamed the onions he was chopping for omelettes.
Before long they were all gathered around the table, Sam’s morning run forgotten, eating Dean’s omelettes and drinking coffee and listening to Jack fill Cas in on everything he had missed. Jack skated over the tricky parts (him being God, the disaster Dean had been while Cas was gone) and focused mainly on all the improvements he’d made to Heaven and the fact that he had decided he could be God and live a normal life— or at least as close to a normal life as a Winchester ever had. But Dean didn’t miss the way Cas’s smile faded when he realized the way things had gone. Guilt soured his appetite. Why hadn’t he tried harder to keep Jack from getting caught up in all this? Why hadn’t he found another way? Why couldn’t he have given Cas something better to come back to?
After breakfast, everyone seemed reluctant to leave Cas’s side. Jack hovered, his eyes tracking Cas’s every movement. Sam mentioned wanting to shower a couple times, but never actually left. And Dean— well, Dean wasn’t going anywhere. Every time he thought of leaving the room, his gut clenched. He knew he was looking at Cas too much, but he figured he was allowed— just drinking in the sight of him, like everyone else.
Eventually he proposed a movie day, and everyone seemed relieved. It was an excuse to stay in one place all day, to be together without acknowledging that was what they wanted. Without acknowledging the thread of fear that ran beneath their joy, the hint of clinginess in their affection. Sam suggested Cas pick the movie, but the option seemed to fluster Cas. He frowned for a long time and eventually deferred the choice to Jack, who glanced at Dean before choosing The Terminator .
“Jack,” Sam chided gently. “I thought you wanted to see Lilo and Stitch .”
Jack’s eyes darted to Dean. “I want to see this too.”
Dean swallowed the sourness in his throat. “Let’s do that Stitch movie. I’m in the mood for something, you know—” He waved the remote vaguely and cleared his throat. “Bouncy or whatever.”
He hated that it took every ounce of willpower not to make some joke at the movie’s expense. That he could hear his father’s derisive chuckle scratching in the back of his mind. It was only the thought of Jack slowly deflating that kept him from being an asshole.
“Bouncy?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever. Just start the damn movie.” He tossed Sam the remote with maybe too much force.
When he turned, he found Cas watching him with a steady gaze. He looked a little sad, but there was something shining in his face. It was so clear it was almost like an actual beam of light, and it knocked Dean’s breath out. He knew what that look meant now. He looked away quickly, fixing his eyes on the TV.
Dean had expected Lilo and Stitch to be basically just blobs of color with annoying voices bouncing around the screen. He was not prepared for what it actually was. First there was Lilo, and she was actually kind of cute, and the music was pretty good too. And then she was lonely, and getting into fights, and no one would listen to her, and oh, look, an orphan relying on a sister who’s just doing her best, just them against the world.
And then there was Stitch, and Lilo wasn’t alone anymore. Stitch was violent cause no one ever showed him any love, and why would they? He was terrifying. But Lilo didn’t care.
The first time Lilo talked about “ohana means family” Dean thought it was kind of cheesy. But by the time she was in the hammock with Nani, and Nani was trying to be brave for her, saying goodbye, and they were letting the flowers go in the wind—
Dean stood abruptly and strode out of the room. He kept going, down the hall and around the corner, until he knew he was out of sight. Then he slumped against the wall, his chest aching. He squeezed his eyes shut, but a couple tears slid out anyway. Fuck. What was wrong with him? It was a kid’s movie. It was a freakin’ kid’s movie.
“Dean?”
Dean jumped, his heart leaping out of his chest, and turned to find Cas just standing there in Sam’s pajamas, head tilted in a frown.
“Jesus fuck,” Dean said, hand pressed to his chest. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” He turned away to wipe his tears, trying to make it casual.
“Are you okay?” There was a soft rustle of fabric as Cas stepped closer, and Dean had to clamp his lips together as another round of tears threatened.
“I’m fine, man,” he managed. A firm hand on his shoulder turned him around, and then they were standing face to face with Cas’s hand resting on Dean’s arm, pressed right where—
Dean stepped away. Hurt flashed across Cas’s face, and he lowered his hand, then his eyes.
“Dean, I know things can’t be as they were. I apologize if you find it difficult to be around me.”
“I— what?” Dean struggled to process Cas’s words, to fit them into some kind of sense. “What are you talking about?”
Cas’s mouth turned down. “I meant it when I said my happiness did not rely on— on you returning what you can’t—”
“No,” Dean blurted. Because God, he had fucked this up already. The first two things on his list were to make sure Cas knew he had a home and that Dean had an answer for him. The first two things, and all he’d done was let Cas stew in his own doubt. “It’s not hard to be around you. You’re not hard to be around, okay? I was—” He lowered his voice, every word etched in shame he wished he didn’t feel. “I missed you every day when you were gone.”
Cas’s eyes lifted. The hope— the flicker of disbelief— it just about killed Dean. He opened his arms, and Cas stepped into them easily. They’d learned how to fit together over the years, and their bodies remembered what to do. Cas tucked his chin over Dean’s shoulder and this time, Dean let his hand curl around the back of Cas’s head, pulling him closer. They gripped each other tight but not crushing, aching but not urgent. Dean turned his head and brought his lips close to Cas’s ear.
“You don’t gotta feel like you’re the only one,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “I don’t have it figured out yet, but you just gotta know, man. You gotta know that I feel…”
Cas inhaled sharply against Dean’s neck, and Dean couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him, practically breathing into Cas’s ear. Cas’s hands tightened on Dean’s back and Dean was suddenly aware in a whole new way of everywhere they were pressed together.
Dean didn’t want to let go. He never wanted to let go, but if he let this go any further, all of his careful planning was going right out the window. Gently, he extricated himself from Cas’s arms. Cas was looking up at him with those big, open eyes, his whole everything painted across his face. That. That was the gift Cas kept giving him, that trust. And this time— Dean had never felt more certain, more determined about anything. This time he was going to keep it safe.
“Soon, okay?” he said.
And Cas nodded, a smile spreading across his face. It was that wide, irrepressible smile Dean had only seen a handful of times, and he couldn’t help smiling back.
After that, Dean dedicated himself to his list. He stared at it every night before he went to sleep, to plan and remind himself.
When he finally worked up the guts to bring Cas breakfast in bed, Cas was baffled.
“I’m not unwell,” he said. “Is there a reason I can’t eat in the kitchen?”
Dean fumbled his way through an explanation of it being a nice thing humans do for each other sometimes, which seemed to satisfy Cas until Sam poked his head in.
“Dean brought you breakfast in bed? What is it, Mother’s Day?”
He then pretended to feel Dean’s forehead for a fever until Dean shoved him out of the room. Cas remained confused, but he dutifully ate his food, all the while watching Dean like he was worried he would start spouting off in Latin or dancing the Macarena. Dean whisked away the plates when Cas was done, face burning in humiliation.
The roller coaster thing went a little better. They all four piled into the Impala on a late spring day that hinted at summer. He rolled the windows down and Jack practically bounced in his seat the whole way, especially when Dean let him pick the music. Cas sat in the backseat with Jack, and whenever Dean glanced in the rearview mirror their eyes caught and held for a moment. Sam reclined in the passenger seat, wind blowing through his hair, looking more relaxed than Dean had seen him in a long time.
After all the parking and tickets and general confusion and waiting in lines, they finally got on a roller coaster. Dean hadn’t ridden one in years, not since high school when he took some girl on an amusement park date with money he’d stolen from a teacher who made the mistake of leaving her purse out on her desk. He remembered liking the thrill, the way his stomach soared up into his throat and the wind rushed through his hair.
Sam, however, downright refused to ride, which left an odd number.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to ride in your car?” Cas asked Dean, twisting around from the seat he shared with Jack.
“Dude, I’m fine. You watch the kid.”
But as soon as the ride got underway, he deeply regretted his choice. Jack was laughing, clearly delighted, but Dean felt like he’d left his stomach back at the beginning of the track. The ecstasy he remembered was replaced with sickening dread. He clenched his whole body tight and waited for it to be over.
“A little worse than you remembered, huh?” Sam said as he helped Dean to his very unsteady feet at the end.
“Shut up.” He turned to Cas, whose hair was sticking straight up like he’d been shocked but otherwise looked no worse for wear. “You’re telling me that was fun for you?”
Cas smiled. “It was fine. Not quite as intense as flying, but I enjoyed the scenery.”
Dean closed his eyes and tried not to hurl.
The roller coaster experience put a bit of a damper on the rest of the day. He tried not to dwell on it, but he couldn’t escape the little question poking at the back of his mind. Was he just getting old, or was this one more thing Chuck had taken from him? Did he make Dean a thrill-seeker cause it suited his story, and now that he was gone Dean couldn’t even handle a damn carnival ride?
It was a silly thing to get hung up on. It probably didn’t even work that way, but it was hard not to wonder.
At least Cas was happy. When they finally got on the road to head back, the sun just starting to set, he climbed into the passenger seat beside Dean. In the back, Sam and Jack both fell asleep with their heads on their respective windows.
“Today was very nice,” Cas said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Jack was happy. I enjoyed it as well.”
“Good.” Dean cleared his throat. “Y’know, it’s good to see you smiling.”
Cas ducked his head, and when Dean glanced at him he looked almost— flustered. It hurt how cute it was. Dean knew he was pushing things, toeing the line he’d drawn in the sand, but he couldn’t help himself.
“You’ve got a nice smile for such a grumpy angel.”
“Dean,” Cas huffed. He turned away to the window, but Dean could make out just enough of his reflection to see that he was biting his lip against a grin.
“Come on, don’t tell me no one’s called you pretty before.”
Cas breathed in sharply. For a moment, Dean thought he wasn’t going to answer. Maybe he’d pushed things too far. But then Cas said,
“Only people whose opinion didn’t matter to me.”
Dean swallowed. You’re beautiful , he thought. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue. “Poor suckers.”
Cas laughed softly. They lapsed into silence, and Dean ached for the rest of the drive.
It was almost four weeks after Cas got back when Dean fell down the stairs. It wasn’t even a dramatic thing like those dicks in soap operas who got pushed and fell in slow motion, hitting every stair on the way down and lying at the bottom with blood leaking out of their ears or whatever. Nope. He just— slipped. His foot went out from under him and his butt hit the ground and he slid about halfway, cursing, until he managed to stop himself. And the worst part was Cas was right at the bottom of the stairs to see it all.
“Dean!” Cas ran to his side, hands hovering as if searching for injury, face contorted with concern.
“I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, swallowing the bolt of panic that had hit him when he began to fall. It had left his nerves fried. He batted Cas’s hands away and hauled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall. Why the Men of Letters hadn’t thought banisters were necessary was beyond him.
“Are you hurt?” Cas asked. The staircase was narrow, and they were pressed together awkwardly so Dean would have had to shove his way past Cas to get down.
“Dude, I’m fine. I’m not a freakin’ china doll. I can handle a tumble.”
Cas’s frown deepened. “I don’t doubt your ability to handle it. I just wanted to help.”
“Well, I don’t need it!” Dean snapped, his voice echoing sharply against the concrete walls.
Cas barely reacted. He looked— resigned. Guilt churned in Dean’s gut.
“I’m sorry,” he ground out. “I just— this isn’t me. I don’t fall down the freakin’ stairs. I get thrown halfway across the room and I get back up. I don’t do this.” He thumped his fist against the cold concrete, staring over Cas’s shoulder so he didn’t have to see his face.
For a long, silent moment he thought Cas wouldn’t respond at all. When he did speak, his voice was low, like he was dragging the words out from somewhere he’d rather keep them hidden.
“When I was first human,” he said. “I felt like my vessel had betrayed me. I never realized how much of what I considered my ‘self’ relied on my body functioning in a familiar way. As soon as that familiarity was gone...I trusted nothing. Not my intuition, not my experience— though those hadn’t changed.”
“Cas,” Dean said. “You don’t have to— it’s not like that.”
“I’ve noticed your uncertainty. I was assuming it had to do with a certain disorientation now that Chuck is gone.”
Dean swallowed. When he didn’t speak, Cas continued.
“I was going to go to my room. Why don’t you come with me?”
Dean had a quick and vicious instinct to say no . He had to shake it off, keep walking until he couldn’t feel the throb in his tailbone anymore. The idea of being around Cas, feeling the pity rolling off him in waves, made him want to scratch off his own skin. But he also wanted to say yes.
It was like trying to lead a horse past a rubber snake. Maybe there was a whole bushel of oats on the other side, but just the shape of that snake was enough to have him shying away.
If anyone asked him what the snake was, he wouldn’t be able to say. Maybe it was what happened to him every time he let his guard down. Maybe it was his disgust at how weak he got any time someone showed him just the tiniest bit of kindness. Maybe it was his dad’s voice after he knocked Dean down sparring, saying, You’re okay, get up. Don’t cry Dean, get your ass up, we’re not done yet .
We’re not done yet, because they were never done. It never ended. For as long as Dean could remember he was telling himself he just had to keep going until they were on the other side. Just one more thing. Just to the end of the hunt. Just until they found Dad. Just until they stopped the apocalypse. Just until they closed hell. Just until—
But it was over. It was over now . There was no more next thing.
Dean turned around without a word and began to trudge up the stairs. He heard the scuff of Cas’s shoes behind him, following. When they reached Cas’s room, Dean stopped. Cas stepped around him and opened the door, leaving it open for Dean to follow him inside. Dean hesitated in the doorway, watching Cas sit on the edge of the bed and remove his shoes. His socks were mismatched, one black and one blue. Ever since Dean had started letting Jack help him with the laundry there had been all kinds of mix-ups.
“You can come in,” Cas said.
Dean took a step over the threshold, then another. He stopped in the middle of the room and shoved his hands in his pockets. Cas removed his trench coat and set it beside him on the bed.
“Dean, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to make you feel obligated.”
“You didn’t,” Dean said quickly.
“Then why don’t you sit down?”
Not seeing much of a choice, Dean crossed the room. He perched on the edge of the bed beside Cas, the trench coat draped between them.
He could feel the last of the adrenaline leaving him, his hackles slowly lowering. Already he felt bad for how he’d spoken to Cas, though he knew it could have been much worse. He dragged a hand over his face.
“I just don’t know what’s me and what’s him,” he said.
Cas hummed softly.
“What, you’re not going to tell me I’m all me or anything?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
Dean laughed ruefully. “I guess not.”
“I have grappled with this same question many times,” Cas said. “You always said it wasn’t really me who misused the power of a god, or attacked you to take the angel tablet.”
“Because it wasn’t,” Dean said harshly.
Cas held up a hand. His eyes were soft, but there was an unhappy twist to his mouth. “I know you’re saying that because you believe I’m good. And you’re right, there were factors beyond my control. But if the actions I did with this body were not ‘me,’ then what is? Where do I draw the line, Dean? I would rather face the consequences of my actions than be told that my body and actions were not my own. Whether it’s true or not, that is the alternative that scares me more.”
Dean swallowed a thick knot in his throat, but his voice trembled all the same. “Everything I did...I thought I was doing for a reason. Maybe not a good one, but I had a reason. I thought that at the end of the day at least I knew who I was.”
“I have found that things are easier when I don’t pretend to know who I am. Maybe that’s not the most important question anyway.”
Dean wiped a stray tear with the heel of his hand. “Cas, that is the question. That’s how you get out of bed every morning. You’ve got to know who you are.”
Cas pulled the trench coat onto his lap, stroking the collar absently. “Maybe you’re right. I just find it difficult to pin down. Something is always changing.” He frowned. “I don’t mean to upset you, Dean. I just know— I have been through too many iterations of myself to ever feel solid. I am happier when I don’t try.”
Dean moved without thinking. He wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulders and hauled him in until Cas’s head rested in the crook of Dean’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “If it wasn’t for me—”
“I don’t like to think about ‘ifs’ either,” Cas said. “I’m happy. I am.” He paused. “Do you ever speak to Sam about any of this?”
The knot in Dean’s stomach tightened. “Maybe I should,” he said. “I just don’t even know where to start.”
“I think he would understand. He’s felt like his body wasn’t his own before. We all have.”
Dean couldn’t bring himself to say that the idea of talking about this with Sam terrified him. Sam probably blamed him for half of what he’d gone through, and with good reason. Instead, he pressed his lips into Cas’s hair. It wasn’t a kiss. He was just...resting there.
“Would you like to go for a drive?” Cas asked.
Dean pulled back far enough to squint at Cas. “What?”
“A drive,” Cas said, lifting his head from Dean’s shoulder. “When I feel disjointed from myself, it helps to do something pleasant. Something that reminds me of what I do know.”
Damnit, Dean was supposed to be the one being good to Cas, not the other way around. Taking Cas for a drive was on his list— he should have suggested it. But he couldn’t say no, because Cas was looking at him with a tiny furrow in his brow, and Dean didn’t want him worrying. Not over silly shit like this.
“Yeah, okay,” he said. He made sure to smile so Cas would know he was okay.
The drives became kind of a regular thing. Most nights after dinner, after Dean and Jack tag-teamed the dishes, after Sam disappeared to the library with a mug of the calming tea Cas liked to pick out for him at the grocery store, one or the other of them would reach for the keys.
“Drive?” Dean would ask.
Or Cas would simply begin herding Dean towards the garage.
Sometimes it was just a short drive into a town. They’d stop to pick up something at the hardware store or park in the lot of the antique store that had a perfect view of the sunset.
Other nights they’d be gone for hours, driving down winding roads until the stars came out.
Sometimes they talked, sometimes they bickered over the music. Sometimes they were silent, drinking in the slow end of the day.
Somehow, three months passed that way.
Dean didn’t decide it was time. He didn’t even know he was ready until the moment came. They were driving together like they always did, the sun blazing at the worst angle for driving but painting the sky pink and gold, and Cas was singing along to Lizzo in his stilted, gravelly voice. Dean didn’t make fun of Cas’s music anymore, and he was actually kind of getting into it, though he would never admit it. He turned to look at Cas, watching him bob his head as the wind ruffled his thick swoop of graying hair.
It hit him then, like a kick in the sternum. What the hell was he waiting for? Cas was here, as present and precious and mortal as he had ever been. He could get hit by a bus and die tomorrow. Or Dean could slip down the Bunker stairs again and fail to catch himself this time. Their lives were no longer counted in apocalypses and resurrections, but days. Fragile, human days.
He jerked the wheel, pulling the car to a screeching stop on the shoulder. Cas lurched in his seat with a gesture like he was trying to shake a knife from his sleeve, eyes darting around for the source of the danger.
“Sorry,” Dean said, jabbing the buttons on the radio until the music stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, the alertness in his expression fading into concern.
“It’s—” Dean stopped. Suddenly the Impala felt way too small. The roof pressed in close, knees jammed under the wheel, his body unable to turn fully to face Cas. And where had all the oxygen gone?
He pulled the keys out of the ignition and threw open the door, stepping onto the shoulder, which sloped down into a field of tall grass and powerlines. He heard Cas climb out behind him, and turned so they were facing each other on opposite sides of the car.
Nope. That was too far. Dean circled around to join Cas, who was looking vaguely frightened now, and put both his hands on Cas’s shoulders.
“Cas,” he said, breathless.
“Dean?”
Dean let his hands slide down Cas’s arms and encircled Cas’s hands with his own, exploring them, mapping their joints and calluses. The warmth that filled him at just this touch— it was instant relief. He lifted Cas’s hands and cradled them against his own chest.
“Cas, I don’t know how to say this.”
“Is this a goodbye?” Cas blurted.
Dean was drawn up short. “I— what? A goodbye?”
“I can’t help but feel…ever since I got back, you’ve been doing so many things you’ve never done before. Like— a bucket list.” Cas’s hands twitched in Dean’s grip.
“What?” Dean asked, dumbstruck. “Why would you think that?”
Cas swallowed and turned his head, and Dean’s heart ached at the sadness radiating off him. “You don’t— you don’t do these things under normal circumstances. It’s like you’re trying to rush through everything you want to do. The things you think I want to do.”
“Fuck.” Dean laughed a little hysterically and bent his head, pressing his forehead to Cas’s knuckles. “Oh God, I hope I’m not dying. If I die now, I’m going to be so pissed in heaven.” He lifted his head.
“Then what has all this been? What is this?” Cas’s eyes dropped to where Dean was clutching his hands.
Dean opened his mouth, and for a moment the words wouldn’t come. He urged himself to speak, and they hovered there, unspoken in the air between them. When he finally did speak, his voice was just above a whisper, shaking. “The rest of our lives, Cas. At least, I hope. If that’s still what you…”
“Of course it’s what I want, Dean. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“Good. Then I’ve got something to ask you.”
“Anything.” Cas still seemed baffled.
“Will you— can I— can I have you? With me?”
“You mean my loyalty? You’ve always had that, Dean.”
“I mean like— God, don’t make me say it.” He squeezed Cas’s hands tight. “Like, love. Whatever you meant when you said you love me.”
Cas rocked back slightly. “You didn’t know what I meant?”
“I mean I have some guesses, but you didn’t exactly spell it out for me, buddy. I guess I’m asking what’s on the table.”
“What do you want to be on the table?” Cas asked, his frown deepening.
“No fair, I asked first.”
Cas said nothing, staring up at Dean with a wild confusion in his eyes.
“What about this?” Dean squeezed Cas’s hands.
Cas looked at their hands again. “That’s on the table.”
“And our movie nights and all that?”
Cas nodded hesitantly.
“What about you living with me? Calling our place home?”
“Yes, Dean,” Cas said, frustration leaking into his voice.
Dean’s heart hammered in his throat. “What if it wasn’t just the same place, but we— we had the same bed?”
Cas’s lips parted. “That’s...on the table as well.”
Dean felt himself starting to smile. “Okay.”
“Is there…” Cas’s eyes darted to Dean’s lips. “Is there anything else you want to ask about?”
“Hmmm….” Now that he was almost certain where this was going, now that liquid warmth was spilling through his veins, making him giddy, making him cocky, Dean couldn’t help wanting to make Cas squirm. “What if I kissed you on the cheek? Would that be too much?”
“No, Dean.” Cas’s voice had grown deeper and rough.
Dean leaned in and pressed a kiss to Cas’s cheek, just a brush of his lips. He heard Cas’s sharp intake of breath and felt him lean in instinctively as Dean pulled away.
“Is there anything else on the table?” Dean asked, his voice a gruff whisper.
Cas surged forward and kissed him on the mouth.
The impact startled a muffled sound from Dean. It was a frantic kiss, more of a slamming together than anything pleasurable.
“Cas,” he said, the sound muffled against Cas’s lips. He pushed gently at Cas’s chest and freed himself from the kiss. “Cas, hold on.” He couldn’t quite keep the laughter from his voice.
Cas, his arms still looped around Dean’s neck, frowned at him. He looked so perfectly dishevelled and eager and annoyed, and Dean laughed again, heart-achingly fond.
“Let’s try this,” he said. He placed a hand on either side of Cas’s face and held him there. Then he leaned in, tightening his grip when Cas tried to lurch forward again, and kissed him gently. It was slow at first, and Cas made small, irritable noises in his throat that reminded Dean of a disgruntled cat. Then Dean parted his lips and deepened the kiss, inviting Cas in but holding him firmly in place, guiding him with his lips.
He felt Cas stiffen, then melt against him entirely, his urgency vanishing as he moved with Dean, as their bodies slid helplessly together. Dean groaned, and an entirely new kind of urgency arose. He turned Cas by the hips and pressed him against the side of Baby.
Time turned meaningless. The sun flared and sank, and twilight gathered. The occasional car drove by, but Dean barely registered the ruffle of wind or the stray honks. He didn’t come back to himself until he felt something wet against his cheek and realized Cas was crying.
“Hey,” Dean said, pulling away, dizzy and disoriented by the sudden darkness. “Hey, what—?”
Cas shook his head fiercely, clutching at Dean’s hands where they still cradled his face. “I’m not sad,” he said. “I promise, I— Dean.” He turned his face into Dean’s palm and pressed a kiss there. “Dean, I—” A sob hiccuped out of him. “Dean.”
“Hey,” Dean said again, a little terrified. He gathered Cas in his arms, pulling him close. “Shh. Shh, shh.”
Cas kept crying. He shook in Dean’s arms and soaked through his t-shirt.
Please stop, please stop crying, please, please stop . The thoughts ran on a loop in Dean’s mind, and it took all of his willpower not to let them spill out. To let Cas cry. To fight the stinging in his own eyes, the thick lump in his own throat. The spiralling terror in his gut.
What if he had just ruined everything? What if all his hard work was crumbling down around him?
“Dean, I love you,” Cas hiccuped into his chest.
Dean closed his eyes and clung to those words. “Shh,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”
They drove home in silence. It wasn’t uneasy, not really. It was more like the stillness after a storm, right before the birds begin to stir again. The hush that falls over a house when its ghost vanishes for the last time. Dean drove with one hand on the wheel and one on Cas’s knee.
When they pulled up in front of the Bunker, Dean cut the engine and turned to face Cas. Cas sat with his hands folded in his lap, patient, perhaps a little wary.
“I waited a long time to do that,” Dean said. “I’ve wanted to since you got back.”
Cas tilted his head. “Why, Dean?”
“I wanted to be sure I was ready. That I didn’t mess things up. That I didn’t get scared.”
Cas lowered his eyes. “And...are you scared?”
Dean huffed out a breath. “Yeah,” he said. “But fuck that, right?”
A smile flickered across Cas’s face, then stuck, and stayed. “Would you like to go inside?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Dean let out a breathy sound that absolutely was not a giggle. “Yeah, okay.”
They snuck past the library where Sam was still reading, laughing and stumbling over each other and being utterly indiscreet. Sam definitely heard them, but Dean didn’t really care. He kind of wanted everyone to know.
I did this.
I got here.
I get to have this .
It sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy, but neither was saving the world. For once, Dean was going to do more than beat back the darkness. He saw a light shining ahead of him, and he was grabbing onto it with everything he had.