Work Text:
“I rebuilt you. Atom by atom.”
At some point, once the dust had settled and they were all safe at home (plus an additional Winchester), Dean and Cas had ended up sitting side by side on Dean’s bed.
“I used my Father’s blueprint to pull together your molecules from cosmic dust. Forging molecules and forming cells.”
Castiel’s voice is soft, words coming in bursts. Dean hears him swallow, thinks about the tears that had been in his eyes earlier when Cas had all but thrown himself at Dean. His Angel had always been so infallible to Dean, the one person Dean counted on to just be okay -- seeing those tears, hearing his voice shake, it shook him.
“I-I remember, as I formed your tissues, your organs, thinking it couldn’t be enough. Your soul was too big, too bright, for such a vessel.”
“Hey, size doesn’t matter,” Dean says flatly, not even committing to the joke. “Michael doesn’t seem to mind.”
Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand tightly. He isn’t sure when their fingers ended up entwined, but he doesn’t have it in him to mind. It's just Cas, he thinks.
Cas is allowed.
Cas is safe.
“I should have carved my protection into your bones then and there. If I had known.…”
Castiel’s head falls forward, like he’s praying. Dean doubts his dick-hole dad is listening if the Angel is.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful your organs are, Dean?” Cas asks. “For as small as it all is, it contains multitudes to wonder at. It protects you in ways I never will be able to, Dean. The blood that runs oxygen through your body. The lymph nodes that assist with your immunity.”
This seems more up Sam’s alley, Dean thinks. He had never done well with classes like biology or chemistry, never understood what his teachers were saying and never stuck around anywhere long enough to bother trying. Sam was the smart one. Sam would know what Cas was saying.
Sam would know what to do about the shake in Castiel’s voice.
Dean runs his calloused thumb over Castiel’s knuckles.
“The skin that covers your muscles and bones and arteries, keeping infection out.” Castiel’s other hand rises to Dean’s chest, lightly brushing over the protection tattoo hidden under the layers Dean is still wearing. Dean can barely feel his Angel’s fingers, and the touch is both too much and not enough. “The freckles that decorate it. You helped me with those. Your soul. It needed help to remember, but it remembered every inch of you, and it taught it back to me.”
Dean shuts his eyes, like he could shut Castiel’s words out. It doesn’t work. He isn’t sure if he wants it to.
“The heart that-” Castiel’s voice just stops.
Dean both wishes Cas would put his hand on his heart and hopes the Angel can’t feel how fast it’s beating.
Cas is facing him now, but his head is still lowered. He tries again. “The heart that you. That you almost let stop. That was almost wiped away-”
Castiel doesn’t finish. He throws himself at Dean again. His arms wrap around Dean’s torso, one of his knees pressing between Dean’s legs. He presses his face into Dean’s chest, pushing it in like he’s trying to fold into Dean’s skin, Dean’s ribcage, Dean’s lungs, until he can wrap himself around Dean’s heart.
Dean lifts a hand to Castiel’s head, running his fingers through the Angel’s soft, messy hair. He feels guilty and hates them both a little bit for it. Cas should be okay . He has to be.
He never is, thanks to Dean.
“Oh, Cas. Okay, it's okay,” Dean hushes over and over.
“Let me come with you next time, Dean,” Castiel begs brokenly into Dean’s chest. “Please, please let me go with you.”
And Dean also loves his Angel for knowing not to ask Dean not to sacrifice himself like that again. Cas knows better.
Its terrifying, how much Cas knows him.
“Okay, Cas,” is all Dean says as he gently cups the back of his Angel’s head, turning it so Castiel’s ear rests over his heart. Cas needs to hear it, Dean thinks. And Dean, for this terrifying, quiet moment, wants him to. “Okay. Okay.”