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Let the stars come out, and the moon shine bright
we’re sleeping on the porch tonight
wind blew all the power lines down
watch where you step if you go walking around
this may be the night
our bodies fill with light
and we may hover above
the surface of
our warm, lonely planet
Let cooling rains come, let them fall
let the grass grow strong and tall
let the dandelions breed
give me what you know I need
this may be the night
our bodies fill with light
and we may hover above
the surface of
our warm, lonely planet
- The Mountain Goats
Dean doesn’t let Castiel take over driving until he’s nearly nodding off in the driver’s seat.
The omega had reluctantly pulled onto the grass with a disgruntled look on his face, the Impala’s tires leaving long marks next to the long stretch of empty highway. He’d yawned, had rubbed his eyes, had snorted at Castiel when he’d quietly thanked him but had smiled slightly none the less. When he’d gotten out, he’d stretched his arms over his head so far that his shirt had ridden up above his navel, and Castiel had needed to stifle the urge to grin at the sight of Dean’s soft, pale stomach.
As they’d swapped places, they’d met for a moment in front of the Impala, the headlights casting their shadows long and dark across the grass. Dean had let his weight rest on Castiel’s chest, had closed his eyes and let his arms lock lazily around Castiel’s middle, forehead resting in the soft place between his shoulder and his neck. He’d grumbled, mostly inaudible, when Castiel had rubbed his shoulders and back in an attempt to work out the tension that several hours of driving always caused.
Now, he’s been driving for a couple of hours, and the moon has risen high over the dark highway through the trees, and Castiel’s hand is intertwined with Dean’s – though his grip had gone lax mere minutes after he’d curled up under Castiel’s coat.
They’re coming back from Bobby’s – a short visit, just staying a couple of days over the weekend for the man’s birthday. Dean had been excited to be there, to cook for his family. Excited, too, to meet the newest folks that Ellen was hosting – a pair of siblings, actually, who had both been freed thanks to some technicality or another that the non-profit they worked with had found. Dean had, as usual, managed to endear himself to them almost immediately, and Castiel had watched from afar as the tension in their shoulders had lessened, as they’d given Castiel scrutinizing but not entirely wary looks from across the Roadhouse as he’d eaten his lunch. It’s not the first time Dean’s used him as proof that not all alphas are scary, and it won’t be the last, and awkward as he is he’s happy to be a much needed proof of concept.
The visit had gone well – happy hours celebrating Bobby, helping plant a new crop of potatoes, laughing and joking with Sam and Jo and Rufus around the fire late into the night. Dean had been reluctant to go, but had turned him down when Castiel had offered to extend their visit. Too much to do at the center.
After they’d finished dinner, they’d set off. The omega had insisted on driving for the first shift, happily ignoring Castiel’s gentle suggestion that he nap instead. He’d slipped right into the driver’s seat like he’d been born to be there, had adjusted mirrors that probably hadn’t needed much adjusting, had picked one of his many tapes out of the glove compartment to pop into the deck. Castiel had been too pleased to see him so obviously happy to push, and for the last six hours or so Dean’s been behind the wheel.
It had only been when his eyelashes had started to flutter, when the line of his shoulders had become jagged with tension, when Castiel had tentatively touched his hand on the gearshift and given him a pointed look. After five or six minutes of Dean’s grumbling – mostly about how he wasn’t tired and how Castiel drove like an old man - Castiel had been permitted to take over. He’d leaned over and gently kissed Dean’s cheek as a silent thank you, and that had seemed to mollify him well enough.
The music is so low it’s barely audible, and the rumbling of the old highway under their wheels is peaceful and soothing. The rocking motion – or perhaps simply sheer exhaustion – had put Dean to sleep not ten minutes after they’d switched, and Castiel can’t say he’s upset about it. His cheek is pillowed on his arm against the window, and the line of his shoulders has softened.
Castiel can’t help but smile to himself at the easy way Dean takes up space these days. At his careworn jeans, and his dark henley – one that’s beginning to look a touch too small for him. Castiel had lit up when he’d noticed, had placed a hand on Dean’s softened middle and smiled when they’d rested together on the couch. “We’ll need to go shopping soon,” he’d announced happily, and had, of course, consequently endured Dean’s delighted teasing about his excitement.
“Aw, admit it, Cas. You just wanna spoil me.”
“Of course.”
Dean had rolled his eyes. “Maybe I don’t wanna get anything bigger just yet,” he’d said mischievously. “I think my muscles look better in this,” he’d added, flexing with a wink, and Castiel had simply kissed him in response. Dean had laughed against his mouth with cheeks he’d never admit were red, and Jo had thrown a pillow at them and told them to stop being so gross and in love.
Castiel doesn’t care. He simply won’t apologize for romanticizing Dean’s growth; the slight curve of his belly, the way his cheekbones have softened. He won’t. It’s a far cry from the frightened wisp of a man he’d met so long ago, and he prefers for that to stay a distant memory.
Unthinkingly, Castiel brushes his thumb across Dean’s knuckles. The omega's hands are more calloused than they used to be – hours of working outside in their garden, or in the garage, planting this or shaping that. It’s something he enjoys, Castiel has found. Creation. The freedom to make things exactly as he wants them, to shape and change. Even now, there’s a deep brown splotch on his hands from where he’d spilled the wood stain for a bench he’d made, a nick on his knuckle from a rock he’d tugged out of a new bed for carrots.
Dean had been shy, at first, at the changes. Had actually apologized to Castiel, the first time he’d come inside with dirt under his nails. It has taken months of small reassurances, of smiles at flecks of paint on his arms, of gentle kisses against bruises and abrasions, for Dean to trust that Castiel does not need him to be pristine in order to love him.
He glances up to Dean’s face. His hair – soft and sun-bleached – has fallen into his eyes, and he reaches up to gently tuck it behind his ear before slipping their hands back together. It’s time for another haircut, he thinks, and is pleased about it. It’s a ritual that Castiel has come to love; a solid hour away from their busy lives with the perfect excuse for gentle, tactile kindness, the sort that makes Dean tilt his head forward and go loose. The sort that makes him breathe deeply with eyes half shut. He thinks, based on the fact that Dean had turned down his offer of going to center’s omega hairdresser, that it’s something he looks forward to as well.
“When’s the last time you looked at the road, Romeo?”
Castiel startles, laughing a little. Now that he’s bothering to pay attention, he can see that Dean is giving him the so-called stink-eye. “I am watching it, Dean.”
“Seems more like you’re watchin’ me,” Dean corrects, yawning. “Are my napping skills really that interesting?”
“Yes,” Castiel replies, blunt as a rock, and Dean huffs out a laugh with a shake of his head. He doesn’t question it, though – he’s well acquainted with the fact that Castiel, strange as he is, finds great solace in watching him sleep peacefully. It soothes something in him. Whether it’s something alpha or just something in Castiel specifically, the result is the same.
Dean yawns and rubs at his eyes. “Where are we?”
Castiel hums, thinking back to the last road sign they’d passed. “I want to say that we’re a few miles outside of Colony.”
Dean’s eyes light up at that. He glances out the window, leaning forward in his seat and shaking off sleep like a blanket. Castiel’s coat folds down into his lap. “Really? Are we still in Wyoming?”
“I believe so.”
“Huh.” He says the word softly, deep in thought as he stares out at the racing trees. He breaks his silence after a moment. “Up for a pit-stop?”
“Do you need to use the bathroom?”
Dean laughs. “Nah. Not that kinda pit-stop, Cas – just…” He trails off, his excitement fading a little. He gives Castiel a small smile, familiar and apologetic. “Actually – nah. It’s not that big of a deal. Never mind.”
Castiel’s brow furrows. Dean’s enthusiasm has wavered – he’s rubbing his thumb along Castiel’s knuckles in a gesture that he easily recognizes as nervous. Self-soothing. “Would you tell me anyway, please?” he asks.
The request is quiet – not demanding, not insistent. He’s learned better than that. He cannot make Dean open the bear trap around his heart through force. All he can do is encourage him. Remind him, however gently that he must, that Castiel is not looking for information because he wants to hurt him with it, or hold against him.
He doesn’t mind. Dean trusts him, but old habits are difficult to break.
It only takes him a few seconds to cave, and Castiel hides his smile as best he can when he does. “I – okay,” Dean relents, suddenly a little shy. “Yeah. It’s… it’s just up here, actually. If I remember right. Off the highway a ways – it’s kinda… the road is narrow, so if you don’t want to, it’s okay–”
“Dean,” Castiel interrupts, squeezing his hand. He doesn’t have to say anything else – the omega is well acquainted with his lectures on not shying away from asking for things.
Dean swallows, looking down at their interlaced fingers. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Castiel ends up following Dean’s hesitant directions for half a mile or so, turning off the main highway and up an old, weathered path that meanders through the trees and up a hill. It is narrow, and dark, and Dean laughs at him when he leans forward in his seat and turns on the high beams. “Cas, you can probably go faster than twenty–”
“Safety is no laughing matter.”
Despite Dean’s tongue in cheek teasing that they won’t, they do eventually arrive. Castiel smiles as they pull into the clearing Dean points out, glancing around at the moonlit scenery. They’re at the top of a small hill, overlooking the forest below. It’s a rough-hewn sort of field, likely an abandoned homestead of some sort – there’s a tangle of barbed wire poking up from the underbrush that he can just make out in the dim light, and the remains of what might have once been someone’s house returning to the earth. Weeds and flowers are sprouting through collapsed beams, vines crawling up cracked and peeling siding. There’s an odd kind of beauty to it.
He rolls forward until they’re clear of the trees, and then parks, pulling the creaking emergency brake even when he sees Dean roll his eyes. The omega laughs at him when he thoughtlessly unbuckles the man’s seat belt for him, and Castiel blushes. He’s simply used to doing that, because Dean tends to fall asleep on long drives like this, and Castiel has, on more than one occasion, half carried him – or fully carried him – inside after they’ve arrived. Dean ignores his fumbling explanation and pecks him on the cheek instead, and Castiel’s blush darkens even further as the man slides out of the car, stepping into darkness when the Impala’s headlights dim and then turn off completely.
He follows, bemused, wondering why they’ve come here but not pressed enough to actually ask – mostly because he’s worried that doing so will make Dean defensive. When he glances over the roof of the Impala, though, Dean’s not looking at him to gauge his reaction as he might have thought.
Instead, he’s looking up.
With his face tipped back, hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes dark and wide as he stares up at the sky, Dean looks for all the world like a painting. Skin soft, the line of his jaw and his throat cast into dove gray shadows, his boots digging into the dark earth like he’s planting himself among the grass and trees. He could easily be mistaken for an angel, Castiel thinks. For a moment, his breath stills in his chest and his heart aches with a fierceness that’s bordering on pain.
The omega hums when Castiel comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his middle, his fingers laced together in an easy embrace. “Clingy,” Dean accuses fondly, not meaning it in the slightest. Castiel knows that much, at least, because Dean leans back. Rests his head on Castiel as he continues to look up, face tugged toward the sky like he’s following a magnetic force.
Castiel, though, can’t help but look at Dean instead. At the soft curl of his eyelashes, just visible in the dark; the angle of his jaw, the little bump on the bridge of his nose. His soft, rounded lips, the shell of his ear, the trio of freckles on the apex of his cheekbone and the crow’s feet that line the corners of his eyes when he smiles.
He’s beautiful. Beautiful.
It’s not till Dean glances at him out of the corner of his eye that he realizes he’s once again been staring. Caught, he can only smile somewhat apologetically. He doesn’t really mean it. There’s no sense in apologizing for something he’s not at all sorry for.
Dean, no doubt well aware of the nature of Castiel’s thoughts, unsuccessfully fights a bashful smile, his cheeks flushing a little. “You’re such a sap,” he says fondly, shaking his head a little and slipping a hand from where it had been resting on Castiel’s arm to gently angle Castiel’s chin up. “That’s the show-stopper, Cas. Not me.”
Perhaps more reluctant than he should be, Castiel lets his eyes flicker to the sky. He can’t help the little intake of breath when he sees the heavens splayed out above them, twisting and sparkling and whirling together in beautiful, clear patterns, the Milky Way visible with perfect color and clarity. Stars spill across the dark canvas like crystals, a million bright dots of celestial power, flickering like a dance for them and them alone.
And all at once, he feels incredibly small, and incredibly, incalculably large.
“It’s beautiful,” he breathes.
“Sure is,” Dean agrees softly.
Castiel glances back down, smiling, but Dean’s eyes are closed. He almost looks asleep, but there’s a tightness to his face that tells Castiel he isn’t as peaceful as he seems.
“Dean?”
Dean’s eyes flutter open again, but this time his gaze seems to go straight through the stars. He shifts his focus to Castiel after a moment, a small smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for stopping.”
Castiel can recognize these words for what they are – an excuse, presented on a silver platter. Permission for Castiel to herd them into the car, to get back on the road. Perhaps, even, to hurry and make up for lost time. But he knows Dean well enough to also recognize that he’s trying to run away from something. That he’s… gun-shy.
From a moment of beauty, he realizes. From peace. Castiel has to wonder if Dean, far more used to clinging to shreds of goodness to keep himself afloat, knows quite what to do with the freedom to soak up as much as he wishes.
Instead of responding, Castiel gently pulls away from Dean, slipping his hand into the man’s own. “I’d like to stay a little longer, if that’s alright,” he murmurs, barely audible above the chirping of crickets and the sway of the summer wind, the ticking of the Impala’s settling engine. “Do you mind?”
Dean’s smile is soft and shy, and all too knowing. They’re getting better at saying what they mean – as they should, Castiel knows – but he doesn’t really mind this, either. This gentle dance, wearing the thinnest possible masks as an automatic form of protection and defense. He’s gotten very good at seeing through Dean’s. Dean’s gotten very good at seeing through Castiel’s, too.
The omega easily lets Castiel lead him to the hood of the Impala, watching with a slight smile on his face as Castiel lays out his coat for them to settle on. Wordlessly, they climb on the hood – Castiel resting his back on the windshield, Dean curling into his side, his head nestled into the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. His body is as warm as the metal of the hood beneath them both.
For a long time, they just stare up at the sky. Bask in it – simple, powerful, raw beauty, the unblinking and unflinching kind. The sort that doesn’t seem real, even as you stare at it. They watch as a bat swoops and loops across the clearing, as an owl glides silently overhead, as a shooting star flashes across the canvas of the sky like a signature from an artist. Castiel hardly wants to blink, it’s so beautiful.
Dean, though. Dean drinks it up like he’s dying of thirst, like a man in the desert. The only thing more captivating than the sky itself is the way it reflects off of his eyes, and more than once Castiel finds himself drawn to that sight, instead.
“Can’t believe I remembered where this place was,” the omega says after a long time, his gaze never once wavering from the sky above them. His voice is soft, like he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet peace of the night.
“When were you here last?”
Dean huffs out a laugh. His eyes flicker shut as he tries to remember – an abrupt severing of his view of the stars. “Oh, I must’a been… I don’t know. I was fifteen or sixteen. Dad was outta state – huntin’ someone, I guess.” His words are tinged with bitterness, but Castiel doesn’t press, and Dean doesn’t dig into the pain of that statement. “His truck was busted up, probably ‘cause he was shitfaced, if I know him. Didn’t say that, of course. Just called me up on a friggin’ Wednesday to come get him. All the way up in the middle of Nowhere, Montana.”
Castiel presses his lips together. “And where were you living at the time?”
Dean’s mouth twists. “Oklahoma.”
Castiel feels, and then ushers away, a familiar spark of anger at John Winchester. “That is… a very long drive for you to take on your own. Especially at that age.”
“I was doin’ worse, at that age,” Dean points out, his words softly mocking. There’s only a little bitterness in his voice – for the most part, it’s resigned acceptance. “It was only a day, or somethin’ like that. Straight shot. He knew when to expect me, y’know? So I just… hauled ass.” He laughs a little. “Should've gotten pulled over, with how fast I was goin’. Left Sammy at home, that time – he was old enough to take care of himself for a few days. Dad ended up poppin’ me for it, but, whatever. Thought it was a bad idea to trap those two in the car for that long together, if I could avoid it. ‘Specially since Sammy hated missing school.”
Castiel takes a deep breath. He wants very much to remind Dean that none of that was normal, that no real father would have had to depend on his child to drive that far to come rescue him from a situation he landed himself in, that no real father would have left him alone in the first place. But he keeps his mouth clamped shut. Dean already knows that. Whether he’s willing to admit it, on any given day, is a different story.
“Anyway,” Dean says dismissively, shaking his head. “That ain’t really the point. All I meant to say is, I found this place on the way there. I was – uh.” He hesitates for a second, chewing on the words. “I mean. It was a pretty long drive. He told me when I was supposed to be there, and by what I could figure I had a little extra time. And I was dead on my feet. Needed to pull over and just close my eyes for a minute or two. Catnap. Didn’t want to stay right by the highway, in case, um–”
He breaks off, looking away. Castiel can guess well enough why Dean wouldn’t want to sleep where anyone could see him. Exposed, alone, vulnerable. It would have attracted attention of some sort or another – nothing good.
“Well, you know,” Dean finishes, shrugging. “So. I pulled off when I saw that dirt road back there, hoping I’d find something. I was wiped, honestly, so I wasn’t payin’ much attention to anything. Just wanted to sleep. And I did.”
At this, he lets himself fall silent. Castiel doesn’t push – he simply lets his hand rest on top of Dean’s heart, his thumb rubbing a soft line into the fabric of his shirt. When Dean draws in a breath, Castiel can feel his chest rise and fall like a wave under his palm.
“I woke up, like, way later than I should have. It was already dark. My phone was off – it died, I guess – and honestly I was too much of a coward to charge it up. Didn’t wanna face him any sooner than I had to. Already knew I’d be in trouble. I remember…” He lets his voice trail. Lets himself go back to the memory, painful as it must be. “I probably should’ve flipped. Panicked. I knew he’d be pissed. But instead, I remember feeling just… just so friggin’ tired, you know? I’d just slept for two or three hours, but it didn’t matter. I was exhausted. And when I got out of the car I was tryin’ to hold myself together, keep from – I don’t know. Crying, or some dumb shit like that.”
“Dean,” Castiel admonishes softly, but Dean just shakes his head.
“I just – somethin’ made me look up,” he says, shaking his head. “Like someone told me to. I think it was 'cause of Sammy, maybe – told me lookin’ up makes it harder for you to cry. Ain’t that fucked up, that he knew shit like that already?” He laughs a little, the sound hollow. “But he was always smart. So I did. And…”
He reaches up. Gestures toward the sky like he’s touching something physical. “God. It was so fucking beautiful. It made me feel so small. But in a good way, you know? Made it feel like all the shit I was worried about was just stupid. There I was, some punk kid with punk kid problems, and the world was just goin’ on anyway. Being beautiful anyway.”
“There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.”
Dean looks up at him with something soft in his eyes, his mouth quirked up into a gentle smile. Castiel, suddenly a little self conscious, clears his throat. “Sorry. It’s – just a quote. From J–”
“Jack Kerouac,” Dean finishes. He snorts at Castiel’s raised eyebrows. “Figure’s you’d manage to pull a line from one of the few books I’ve actually read.”
Castiel feels something warm flood his chest at that – at the affection in Dean’s voice. “You liked it?”
“On the Road?” Dean clarifies, huffing out a laugh. “Yeah. It was my mom’s copy, actually. Shitty old paperback. Dog eared. I used to underline the parts that got to me. Think I might’a been named after one of the characters, actually.”
“She must have loved it, too.”
Dean smiles, though it’s sad. “Yeah. Guess she did. Think she liked the idea that I’d be free like that, you know? Doubt she thought my life would look so much like it, though. The book. All the movin’ around. Dad draggin’ us from place to place, and then… yeah.” He turns his gaze away from the stars for a moment, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s chest instead. He takes a breath. “None of it felt like freedom. Not before, and not after. Funny, how life works out.”
For a moment, they just bask, splayed out under the blazing stars and tracing them with their eyes. It’s not till Castiel looks down at again that he realizes Dean is crying, eyes locked on the heavens as a tear streaks down his cheek and soaks into the fabric of Castiel’s shirt.
“Dean? Are you…”
“Thought I’d never get to see ‘em again,” Dean chokes out, voice broken and small. “God, Cas. I thought freedom was as far away as the fuckin’ stars.”
Slowly, gently, Castiel reaches up. Brushes the moisture from Dean’s cheek. The man squeezes his eyes shut at that – at the touch – and more tears follow the first. He shifts, pressing Dean closer, and Dean turns so that his face is hidden against him.
And he lets the tears come.
Dean used to cry silently. Used to hold his breath, to shove a fist against his mouth, to hide his pain and anguish. Used to cut it down where it stood before he could feel the brunt of it. It was the only thing he knew to do. Survival tactic, he’d told Castiel once.
So much of Dean’s life has been built around simple survival.
Now, though. Now, he allows it to rip through him instead. He grabs a fistful of Castiel’s shirt and shakes apart, and Castiel simply runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and tenderly holds his pieces until they’re ready to be put back together.
And if there are tears streaking down his own face, Dean doesn’t mind.
“I love you,” Castiel whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He repeats it, a litany of reassurance, a net of safety for Dean to fall into, and Dean does. He cries until his breathing slows and goes steady, lays cradled against Castiel’s chest until both their tears have dried.
And then, Dean sits up. Looks down at him. Lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh. Pulls Castiel upright as well. Brushes Castiel’s own tears from his face, and rests his hand there afterward. Kisses him softly. Takes his hand and tugs him off the Impala’s hood, their feet landing on the soft earth at the same time.
And, together under the stars, they go home.