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At first, it was just excited to have people over again. Sam and Dean Winchester were not quite like the other Men of Letters– not that that was a bad thing, of course. They were both so enthusiastic, with the shorter one getting practically giddy over the mere presence of its kitchen and the taller one being just as excited over the number of books.
It was nice for Bunker to be needed again. It had been so long since there had been people, and even longer since there were people who saw Bunker’s help as new, not expected. And the Winchester boys themselves were always nice enough, even if the guests they brought were sometimes questionable. The shorter one’s food always made Bunker’s corridors smell so lovely, and even the music he played was never too loud. But the best part of the Winchesters, by far, was Castiel.
Bunker hadn’t known what to make of Castiel at first. It hadn’t seen something like him before and had admittedly bristled at his intrusion, worried that, somehow, the warding had failed.
But Castiel knew the boys staying inside, and Castiel was the only one who seemed to realize that Bunker could think. The boys were always more appreciative than the Men of Letters had been, but Castiel was kind . He always apologized when he bumped into walls, and he convinced the shorter one to not slam doors so loudly, and he thanked Bunker when he found just the right lore book, whether it did anything or not.
And Castiel actually spoke to Bunker, which was the most welcome surprise. It hadn’t had a conversation in so long that it had almost forgotten that it could. Castiel would speak, his gravelly voice spelling out what Heaven looked like and how it felt to be an angel, and Bunker would shuffle rugs and shift books to let Castiel know it was listening.
Castiel’s stories were always fascinating. He was an old being, even older than Bunker, but he had a genuine sense of wonder about humanity. His whole face would glow when he talked about humans– especially the boys– and the beauty of nature. Bunker didn’t know much about nature, but it knew that Castiel had smiled his brightest smile when Bunker revealed the small greenhouse it had constructed for him.
Castiel talked about Heaven, too, though it seemed like a touchy topic for him. Heaven was beautiful– it used to be, Castiel had said once, but now it was locked in turmoil, most of which was Castiel’s fault. Bunker didn’t believe that– surely someone so pure could never destroy such a perfect place– but Castiel insisted that the other angels hated him for it.
It wasn’t something Bunker would admit, or something that it was proud of, but it couldn’t help but feel a little happy that the other angels hated Castiel. Because if Castiel never returned to Heaven, then maybe he’d stay with Bunker forever, and Bunker could have a friend instead of merely guests.
“It was upsetting, at first,” Castiel had explained, staring fondly at where the shorter one had fallen asleep on the couch. “Not having a purpose, I mean. I was so used to following Heaven’s orders that the idea of freedom was terrifying. But I realized that I always had the same purpose, from the moment I walked into Hell– to save Dean Winchester.”
Bunker didn’t quite understand Castiel’s undying fondness. The shorter one– Dean, Bunker supposed it should refer to him as— was conventionally attractive, sure, and he was funny and caring and strong. But he was plenty rude, too, and demanding, and never treated Castiel with the gratitude he deserved.
But Castiel clearly loved Dean, in all the ways Bunker had ever seen love. So as Castiel picked Dean up to carry him to bed, Bunker shifted its corridor to make Castiel’s trip a little shorter. And while Dean was asleep, Bunker shifted the rooms, again, to make sure his room was quiet enough, so Castiel could worry less about Dean getting enough sleep. And when Dean woke up, Bunker made it just a little bit easier for Dean to find the lore on the monster he was hunting, so he could have enough time to show Castiel a movie like he’d promised.
And if Bunker moved up the edge of the couch, just enough to edge Dean’s arm from off the back of the couch and onto Castiel’s shoulders– well, no one had to know, not even Castiel.
Before It happened, Bunker might’ve even come to love the boys as much as Castiel did.
The shorter one pulled Castiel aside– a human Castiel, just as vulnerable as either of the boys– and told him that he couldn’t stay.
Castiel couldn’t stay? Just because Bunker allowed the boys to stay didn’t mean they got to make the rules. Bunker had half a mind to start cracking warding until the boys were forced to leave, both the shorter one and the taller one (who was possessed by an angel that wasn’t nearly as nice as Castiel. Heaven could keep that angel).
But as Castiel packed to leave, he laid his hands on one of the columns, pleading, “Protect them for me, because I can’t.”
Bunker would’ve kicked the boys out, if not for that. But because Castiel asked, and only because Castiel asked, it took on the mantle of Castiel’s purpose: save the Winchesters.
Well, maybe ‘save’ was the wrong word, because Bunker still took some delight in taking its little revenges for Castiel’s glaring absence, usually ranging from not helping the boys research and moving the shorter one’s room around so he couldn’t find it as easily.
The boys certainly didn’t notice– though Bunker was sure the angel inside the taller one would’ve sensed its sentience by now– or if they did notice, they didn’t say anything. Bunker couldn’t’ve been happier when Castiel returned– for good this time, it would make sure of that– if just for the conversation.
If Castiel was expecting an apology from the shorter one on his return, he would’ve been sorely disappointed. Really, Bunker had half a mind to punish the shorter one for that– who chooses some random rude angel who didn’t even rescue him from Hell over Castiel ?-- but it refrained, because Dean made Castiel happy, despite the lack of apology.
And Castiel only got happier when Dean started inviting Castiel down to the “Dean Cave” for more movie nights. Watching them on the couch– poised to chuck a book at Dean’s head in case he dared hurt Castiel again– Bunker realized that maybe Dean had apologized, in the same way he showed his love, shrouding his confessions in “I need you” and “Heaven can wait, Cas, but Die Hard 3 can’t”.
(Bunker watched Die Hard 3. It wasn’t very good at all. But it couldn’t deny that having Castiel watch that movie inside its safe walls was a much better alternative than Castiel being in Heaven, surrounded by stupid angels.)
When Dean made a comment during one movie night how the remote had suddenly stopped disappearing when Castiel returned, Castiel had shot Bunker’s wall a glare, as if saying play nice. Well, Bunker would play nice, because as long as Dean stayed, Castiel would always come back to be with him.
Bunker was sure it was the last one to realize that the shorter one had changed. Castiel had been worried for weeks, and the taller one– Sam– had been spending more and more time locked away in its libraries. Sam was no longer praising the vast arsenal of knowledge, he was now more concerned with how Bunker didn’t have the right book. Bunker tried not to take it too personally.
Bunker still wasn’t sure entirely what had happened to the shorter one, just that it was making Castiel sad. Apparently there was some sort of “cane mark”, and Castiel had asked a few times if Bunker had ever heard of it, and Bunker always said no, and Castiel always smiled sadly and thanked it, anyway, saying that it was “okay”.
But nothing was okay. Not when Castiel was unhappy.
Not when those creatures infested Bunker, gleefully plotting to burn it alive after trashing its insides, slashing away at years of knowledge and security.
Not when Dean stormed in, a whirlwind of rage and violence as he killed one intruder after another, his once-bright soul a blood red tar pit.
Not when Castiel tried to save Dean from himself, only for Dean to beat Castiel up so badly that Bunker thought he was dead. Bunker almost intervened– it was willing to do anything to save Castiel, and it had plenty of weapons at its disposal from endless corridors to falling ceilings to thrown furniture– but Castiel had stared at it, and shook his head. A silent reminder of what he’d made Bunker promise when Dean kicked him out– protect them for Castiel.
In the end, Bunker had let Dean go, and poured its energy into trying to help heal Castiel. Whatever happened to the cane mark, Bunker wasn’t sure. But Dean didn’t apologize again and Castiel forgave him again and Castiel was happy, again.
Well, Castiel was happy again until he became that Someone Else. But Bunker didn’t like to think about those times. The only part that mattered was how Dean– the shorter one, the one who let Castiel sacrifice himself over and over again, the one who loved Castiel but wouldn’t say anything, the one who Bunker was growing irritatingly fond of the more it saw him through Castiel’s eyes– wanted to save Castiel from that Someone Else.
Dean and Bunker spent a lot of nights together, while Castiel was Someone Else. Bunker wasn’t entirely sure if Dean could feel its presence, but he spoke out loud a lot, murmuring things at the TV screen and into the bottom of the beer bottle. Bunker wasn’t sure why Dean drank so much, but it always kept some beer stocked, just in case.
Die Hard 3 was playing in the background and Dean was staring at the TV with unseeing eyes. His fingers were gripping tight around the neck of the bottle he was holding, taking numb sip after numb sip. When he spoke, Bunker had almost thought Dean was speaking to it, rather than Castiel.
“You bastard,” Dean whispered. And then, “I’m going to find a way to save you. And screw Sam for saying you don’t want to be saved, because I know that’s not true.”
The next night Dean spoke, he was watching a bee documentary, one that reminded Bunker of Castiel and his fascination with the greenhouse. Maybe Dean would like the greenhouse, too. It had tried to show Dean the way to the greenhouse, but he hadn’t followed; instead, he stumbled into his bedroom and shut the door.
The more time passed while Castiel was Someone Else, the more brave Dean’s words became. They were still always spoken late at night when Sam was sure not to be around, and sometimes Dean even made an attempt at praying to Castiel directly.
“I hope you’ve got your ears on, Castiel,” Dean said. His green eyes were wet with tears, staring hopelessly up at the ceiling. “Because you deserve to hear this, and I’m not sure I can work up the courage to say it to your face. I love you. So come back to me, okay? I don’t care what else happens, I don’t care if we never defeat Amara because we don’t have Lucifer. I love you .”
If Bunker had a heart, that heart would’ve skipped a beat at Dean’s words.
Dean was right about one thing– Castiel did deserve to hear it. Maybe Bunker didn’t understand his undying fondness, maybe Dean didn’t deserve Castiel, but being with Dean would make Castiel happy, and Bunker would do anything to make Castiel happy.
Which meant all Bunker had to do was help Dean and Sam release Castiel from the Someone Else and then force Dean to work up the courage to say “I love you” to Castiel.
Bunker never claimed to be subtle.
“What the hell?” Dean asked, picking up the book it had thrown at his feet. He squinted at the title before showing the book to Sam. “Did you make this?”
Sam shrugged, hardly glancing at the book– some highly inaccurate children’s fairytale, where Bunker had very helpfully replaced the word “mermaid” with the word “angel”. Bunker thought it was a fitting story, anyway, seeing as how Castiel had given up Heaven for Dean more than once, and all Dean had to do to make Castiel happy was kiss him.
“I swear it wasn’t here two seconds ago,” Dean grumbled. “Are we sure the Bunker isn’t haunted?”
If only they knew. .
“I think we’d know if it was,” Sam said. “If we know anything, it’s how to spot a ghost. And, besides, with how powerfully this place is warded, it’s not like random ghosts can just get in.”
Bunker never claimed to be subtle, but in its defense, the message still wasn’t getting across.
Dean never questioned the number of times a tiny raise of the floorboards sent him falling straight into Castiel’s arms. He seemed to be more preoccupied with blushing and trying to hide how much he liked it when Castiel held him.
Bunker had always shifted corridors before, but it was doing it much more frequently now, from getting Dean and Castiel to run into each other to keep Sam and the other guests away from them. Dean and Sam didn’t notice that, either.
When things got really desperate, Bunker switched out the movie cases in the Dean Cave with more romantic ones. Dean seemed to think it was a prank, but they watched them anyway, so Bunker considered it a win anyway.
Castiel picked up on it after said movie night. Dean had fallen asleep on Castiel’s shoulder halfway through the second movie– which was something about a broken mountain, Bunker wasn’t quite sure, it just knew it was a romance with a cowboy, and Dean was willing to watch things with cowboys in them– and Castiel cleared his throat, eyes searching the ceiling.
“I know what you’re doing,” Castiel said, voice quiet as to not to wake Dean. “I know you want me and Dean to be together romantically.”
Bunker fluttered the curtains. Of course it wanted Castiel and Dean together; it would make Castiel happy, and if Castiel’s purpose was saving Dean Winchester, then Bunker could declare its purpose to make Castiel happy. Castiel deserved to be happy, after how happy he had made Bunker by being its friend, and how much he’d sacrificed for the Winchester boys and the world.
Castiel chuckled sadly. “Thank you, but he doesn’t like me back. If I said anything, it would only make things worse.”
Even Castiel could be as stupid as a Winchester boy sometimes. Bunker clearly needed to up its game.
Really, Dean was the one who dug his own grave, in the end. He left a can of spray paint out, and it was laughably easy for Bunker to slip that can into an end table and wobble said end table into a room it knew it could lure Castiel and Dean into.
If Sam ever decided to leave the library, well, he’d find himself able to find any room but the one Castiel and Dean would be in.
Castiel would be easy enough to guide into the room, but Dean would take more work. He always went into the kitchen first thing in the morning, though, and with a few clever corridor shifts, it was fairly sure it could get Dean into the same room as Castiel.
And once Castiel and Dean were in the room, they wouldn’t have a choice. “Work up the courage” would be spray-painted on the door, clear instructions for Dean to confess his feelings for Castiel. There was only one way out, a locked door, and no one else would be able to open that door except Bunker.
Trapping Dean and Castiel was even easier than Bunker had thought.
“This isn’t the bathroom,” Dean said, frowning as he looked around. “Cas, what’s–” The door slammed shut behind Dean, and he whirled around, reading the words. Castiel was standing in the corner, arms crossed as he leaned up against the wall.
“The door’s locked,” Castiel told Dean stiffly. He glared at Bunker, who refused to cower. This was for the best, and Castiel would see that soon enough.
“What the hell do those words even mean?”
Castiel was still glaring at Bunker’s walls. “I thought I told you to stay out of this.”
“You didn’t tell me anything!” Dean snapped. He faltered, tracking Castiel’s gaze to the wall. Bunker could practically see the gears turning in his brain. “You weren’t talking to me. You were talking to…”
“The Bunker. It’s mildly sentient, and can be…overbearing.”
Castiel didn’t really mean that, Bunker reassured itself. Castiel was just upset, but he’d get over it soon, after Dean confessed. Castiel would be far too busy kissing Dean and holding his hand to stay mad at Bunker.
“The Bunker’s sentient? And you knew ? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Oh, that wouldn’t do at all. Bunker pulled the door open and shut again, making Dean jump.
“The Bunker is also apparently fond of me,” Castiel replied, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t mean to keep anything from you, Dean. It just didn’t seem important.”
“So you’re saying, all the times I’ve gotten lost coming back to my bedroom after using the bathroom…”
“And every time you’ve found exactly the right book or cursed object or room you needed to,” Castiel reminded him strictly, and Bunker resisted the urge to preen. “Yes, it was all the Bunker.”
Now it was Dean’s eyes that were tracing the ceiling, as if waiting for a pair of eyes to jump out at him. Bunker tried not to take his paranoia to heart. With all Dean had lived through, it was understandable for him to be suspicious of any powerful being that watches over him.
“And you can…speak to it?”
Castiel nodded. “We can communicate, yes. Though normally through subtler means than spray-painting on the door.”
Dean turned around, as if reading the words for the first time. He almost seemed to relax. “The Bunker wants you to work up the courage to do something? And we’re stuck here until you say it?”
Castiel sighed. “I suppose so, yes.”
No! If Castiel confessed, that would be fine, but it was supposed to be Dean–
Dean swallowed, taking in the sight of Castiel’s sad, resigned face. “What are you gonna tell me that’s so bad our freaking house had to lock us in here?”
Frustration welled up inside Bunker’s walls. After all this time, Dean really didn’t trust Castiel? Castiel always did the right thing, or what he thought was the right thing. And this wasn’t even supposed to be Castiel’s confession, it should be Dean’s.
Bunker sighed, sliding the rug out from under Dean’s feet. Dean yelped, narrowly avoiding being knocked off his feet, as Bunker used the rug to add more words to the door.
Work up the courage to tell Castiel, the door now read. The rug settled back down on the ground, and Bunker settled back, watching Dean and Castiel’s reactions. Castiel’s eyes widened, pushing off the wall and staring at Dean with an open mouth. Dean’s eyes were locked almost pointedly on the words, recognition and resignation in equal parts lacing his features.
“Dean? What is it talking about?” Castiel asked.
Dean let out a low chuckle, turning back around to face Castiel and running a nervous hand through his hair. “Yeah, I thought it might’ve been about…that. Guess we know why it had to spray paint the door to communicate.”
“Dean, is everything okay?”
“When you said yes to Lucifer, could you hear prayers? I mean, my prayers to you?”
Castiel looked almost embarrassed. “No, I was…there were moments of lucidity where I could feel longing, but never exact words.”
Dean took a step towards Castiel, as if wanting to reach out and take his hand. So he was working up the courage, after all. Excellent. Bunker was half-worried Dean would rather die in the tiny room than say it.
“There was one night where I prayed to you while you were gone and I said I didn’t think I’d be able to work up the courage to say it to your face. The Bunker must’ve heard me.”
“What did you say?” Castiel asked. He looked almost apprehensive as Dean gently took one of his hands with his own.
“That I’m in love with you.”
The room went silent. Bunker didn’t dare move, afraid of breaking the moment. But when it did cast its gaze on Castiel, it saw that the angel was smiling his brightest smile again.
“I thought the Bunker was going to force me to confess my feelings for you,” Castiel admitted. “I was sure you’d never return them.”
“You were wrong, then. I love you– cursed or not, angel or not.”
“I love you, too.”
“Can I kiss you, Cas?”
Castiel nodded as he leaned in, his lips meeting Dean’s. If Bunker had a mouth, it would’ve cheered. It opened the door.
Castiel and Dean were still too busy kissing to notice. And kissing. And kissing.
Didn’t humans need air? What were they doing?
“Cas? Dean?” Sam was calling from a few doors down, probably sick of getting sent in circles.
Looking back at Castiel and Dean– was that really what kissing was supposed to look like?-- Bunker shut the door and locked it once more, watching as Sam walked past it. Sam might be annoyed, but really, Sam would be thanking Bunker that he didn’t have to see it. It’s for Sam’s well-being that he took another lap around the walls.
Things got happier after that. Castiel was happier after that, as was Dean.
After several hours of Castiel being stuck in Dean’s bedroom (Bunker hadn’t dared watch what was happening in there), Castiel thanked Bunker for interfering, still smiling so brightly.
Dean was happier, too, and nicer. He apologized to Castiel (Castiel probably forgave him too easily, but Bunker couldn’t exactly blame Castiel for that. Dean was nothing if not charming, when he tried to be) and he started apologizing when he slammed doors too loudly or when he bumped into furniture.
And Dean made more family dinners, too, which made Bunker’s corridors smell better than ever. It was mostly burgers, Castiel’s favorite, and he always threw a veggie patty or two for Sam.
“You’ve got something right there,” Dean said, stroking his thumb across Castiel’s lip to remove the smear of ketchup. He licked the ketchup off his thumb while winking at Castiel, who rolled his eyes despite the smile creeping on his face.
Sam groaned. “Am I really going to have you put up with you two making doe eyes at each other for the rest of my life?”
“You sure are, bitch,” Dean replied, planting an exaggerated kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “Besides, we’ve been making doe eyes at each other for years. Not my fault you’re less observant than a literal wall.”
“Jerk. Wait, what do you mean, a literal wall?”
Dean smiled sheepishly. “Right. I totally meant to tell you but Cas here was very distracting. Thing is, the Bunker is sentient, and it’s besties with Cas.”
Bunker preened, fluttering its curtains.
“Sentient?” Sam repeated, mouth open. After this, Bunker made a mental note to guide him to the library section on how magic can manifest sentient objects. “You mean like…”
“Every time you’ve gotten lost coming back from the bathroom at three in the morning?” Dean supplied. “Yeah, that was the Bunker.”
Castiel glared at Dean. “And every time you’ve found the book you needed at the exact right moment.”
“I was going to say, every time I’ve walked in on you two after you were kissing, that was the Bunker?”
Dean’s grin only widened. “It redirected you so you didn’t walk in on me taking Cas’s shirt off? Yeah, that too.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. Why these boys always assumed it was in the ceiling, Bunker would never understand. “Thank you, Bunker.”