Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first tattoo Castiel got was done out of necessity, not desire. He scraped together enough money to afford the shop’s minimum, walking out with warding etched into his side. The shop was nice enough, especially for the price, and the artist’s hand was steady enough to ensure the warding would hold. 

“Why now?” The artist was just making conversation, transferring the pattern to the stencil. They had no idea what Castiel had been though, what could happen if he didn’t go under the needle. They didn’t know he was only partially-protected, the incantation being all that would keep him from Heaven’s watchful eye. 

“It was time,” Castiel said. 

“Been thinking about it a lot?” 

“I suppose.” Cas traced his bare ribs absently. “Not very long, but very often.”

“Watch out,” the artist said. “You’ll get addicted.”

That tattoo was now eight years old, thoroughly healed over and faded ever so slightly from washcloths and shirts passing over it each day. Castiel caught sight of it sometimes, in the mirror, though he rarely gave it mind. It was simply part of his skin, like his wedge-shaped navel where Jimmy Novak once had an umbilical cord, or the small bumps he would sometimes find around his nipples. Differentiating marks, sure, but no more unique or remarkable than another body’s. 

Dean felt the same about his anti-possession tattoo; Cas knew this, he asked. 

“Do you find your tattoo important?” He questioned, sitting with Dean at a Panera Bread. They were driving back to Kansas from Michigan and Castiel had mentioned that he’d never had a macaroni and cheese bread bowl. Fifteen minutes later, Dean was dragging him inside. 

“My tattoo?” Dean asked, sucking a drop of mayonnaise from his knuckle. “I dunno, I mean, it’s kept me from having some demon jump my bones a few times, so that’s a bonus. Some people think it’s hot. I don’t think about it much, to be honest. Gets lost in all the scrapes and scars, you know?” 

“Do you think it’s hot?” Cas asked. Dean had raised his sandwich back up, ready to take another bite, but left it held in front of his parted lips. 

“I mean, uh, I guess. Tattoos are hot in general, so, sure. Why’re you asking?” Cas could see irritation crawling over Dean’s features. He wasn’t mad, not really, but he was uncomfortable. 

“I was thinking about my own,” Cas admitted. “I’d gotten it the last time I was human. I thought I might commemorate the occasion again.” Cas took a bite of his own food. The macaroni was thick and rich, the bread crisp and soft. He was still acclimating to human eating patterns after losing his grace, but this wasn’t overwhelming his senses. It was warm. Comforting. Nothing like the cold, hollowness he’d felt before as a human. There was nothing vacuous about his stomach now. 

“Out of the Empty, under the needle, eh?” Dean kidded, though his voice sounded strained. It always did, when Dean spoke of the Empty. It had only been three months between Cas’ sacrifice and Dean’s tight grip on his shoulder, pulling him back to Earth, but the Dean to which he returned had changed. He was thinner now, quicker to melancholy. Cas tried to be funny, to say things he thought might make Dean laugh. He watched Dean take a bit of his sandwich, a bacon crumble dropping out the bottom and onto his plate. He hoped Dean would pick it up. Eat it. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Cas said. “I think it would be nice to decorate my body.” 

“And that’s why you wanna know if tattoos are hot?” Dean asked. He ate the bacon bit. Cas’ heart squeezed. “What...you wanna look good for the fellas?” 

Cas’ heart squeezed again. He’d been back four weeks. He hadn’t planned on coming back at all. When Dean didn’t address his confession, he didn’t bring it up. When Dean had burst into Cas’ room one week after his rescue, panicking after a nightmare, and gasped out, “That was -- I didn’t deserve that, Cas,” before hyperventilating, Cas didn’t upset Dean further with a repetition. Twenty days had passed since, and neither said a word. 

“I think I’m plenty attractive,” Cas said. Dean coughed around a chip. Cas glared at him, though the look was hollow. “But if I’m going to live in this body until I die, I might as well enjoy it.” 

Dean’s whole face twitched, eyebrows shooting up and furrowing down in the span of only a few seconds. “Well,” he said, “can’t fault you there. You know what you want to get?”

“I have a few ideas,” Cas said, ripping off a shred of his bread bowl. “I’m not sure where to start.” 

“Wait,” Dean said, mouth teasing into a smile. “A few ideas? You plan on getting blasted?” 

“If that’s what it’s called,” Cas said. “I appreciate tattooing, I see no reason not to cover myself in it. There are many things I’d like to wear on my skin.” 

“Huh,” Dean said. His cheeks had flushed slightly and his Adam’s apple bobbed more significantly when he swallowed. Cas wished desperately his grace hadn’t evaporated when the Empty spit him out; he could have easily cured Dean of whatever cold he had coming on. It was likely exacerbated by his weight loss. Cas watched him pick up the other half of his sandwich. 

Dean’s elbow jutted out, knocking into Cas’ hand. “You want another?” Dean asked, nodding toward Cas’ plate. Only remnants of his meal remained. Cas barely remembered tasting it. For all the access he had now to food, his body only remembered its scarcity. 

“No, I’m alright,” Cas said. He wasn’t hungry. Dean was. 

“Okay,” Dean said, teeth ripping into layers of meat and lettuce. Cas watched his throat fill out when he swallowed. “But I’m getting us a dozen bagels before we hit the road. Jack loves them.” He winked at Cas. 

“Good to know,” Cas said. He had missed less, this time, than he had when Jack was first born. But the boy had continued to grow, to discover himself, during the three months away. Cas had come back to a child who had read Percy Jackson novels, who loved basketball, who hated key lime. Dean had taken it upon himself to fill Cas in. Dean was the reason Cas didn’t miss more. Dean was the reason he left at all. 

The car ride back was uneventful. Cas was in charge of music, a responsibility bestowed upon him some years back. He fell back into his pattern: two classic rock songs, one modern rock song, one pop song, like it was a worn leather chair. A classic song was playing, an old Poison one about roses having thorns. Dean leaned into Cas’ space, his hands casually flopped across the Impala’s steering wheel. They’d driven this road before. This was a comfortable path to go down. 

“Y’know,” he said, “there’s a tattoo parlour not far from here. If you want to check it out.” 

“Now?” Cas asked. 

“Sure,” Dean said. “I mean, Sam and Eileen aren’t exactly on pins and needles waiting for us to get back. We can make a detour.”

“I hadn’t thought of tattoos in such immediate terms.”

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to get one today. But you gotta make sure the shop is clean. That the people are nice. That they’re not -- not -- uh, gonna be jerks. About you. Or whatever.”

“I appreciate the concern, Dean, but I’m plenty capable of handling a few homophobes.” 

Dean coughed. Hacked, really. His cold was progressing. Cas furrowed his brow, waiting to hear phlegm. Dean simply swallowed. 

“Uh -- yeah -- uh, I didn’t mean, I mean, I know that, but still, wouldn’t you rather not deal with it anyway?” 

Cas looked up toward the Impala’s roof. The faintest outline of a boot, where Dean had once popped the frame back into place through brute force, was stained into the vinyl. Cas had been alive for that, but “off the deep end,” as Dean called it. More things to miss. 

“I’m sorry - I didn’t --” Dean said, abruptly righting himself back into the driver’s seat. 

“No, it’s not that,” Cas said, “You’re right. I would appreciate seeing the shop.” 

“Yeah?” Dean said, eyeing Cas. “Okay, uh, let’s check it out.” He turned off at the next exit, down a side road Cas had never taken before. 

The tattoo parlour was at the end of it, part of the strip mall that capped the road. ‘Needlepoint Tattoos’ was emblazoned above the door in graphic letters that reminded Cas of graffiti. Dean pulled into the parking lot, sliding into a spot just to the side of the store, in front of a dry cleaner’s. He leaned forward, peering at the studio. 

“Looks like your kind of place,” he mused. Cas squinted. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Needlepoint...you like crafts…” Dean said, swaying back and forth like he was putting the two pieces together. Cas leaned forward, mimicking Dean. The shop seemed clean from the outside. A neon open sign glowed in the window. 

“Want to go inside?” Dean asked, interrupting Cas’ evaluation. Cas sat up, watching Dean. Dean’s eyes were wide, earnest. He might just be gaunt. 

“No, Dean, I want to sit outside,” Cas said, deadpan. Dean flinched back. 

“Sorry, I know, I should’ve, this was stupid,” He rushed out, staring into his lap. He reached for the gearshift. Cas grabbed his arm. Dean’s head snapped over to look at him. 

“I want to go in, Dean,” Cas said. Dean’s brow furrowed. Cas dropped his arm. He could feel the leather slide against his rough palm. 

“But you --”

“I’ve been informed I was ‘getting funnier’. Apparently I was lied to,” Cas said. Dean’s lip wobbled for a moment before cracking into a grin. 

“Whoever said that was a damn liar,” Dean said, mirth sweeping up across his freckles and dotting his eyes. 

“I was also told that when we humans want something, we lie. I don’t want to go in,” Cas said, letting a smile give up the joke. Dean laughed wholly at that, throaty and rich. 

“Man, someone really fucked up your human training,” he said. Some of the laugh died on his lips. Cas wished he knew a joke, a quip, anything to bring it back to life. Dean just flashed a smile instead. “Well, come on, then,” he said, climbing out of the car. 

Cas followed him, stepping up onto the curb. Dean flung open the door of the parlour, nodding for Cas to step inside. A bell rang on the doorframe. 

The inside of Needlepoint Tattoo was bright and clean. Cas liked it immediately. Smaller sketches were framed on the wall. Some had price tags stuck on their corners. The reception area was small but comfortable. The hum of a machine filtered from the back. The man at the counter looked up when Cas entered. He was tall, broad, with a full brown beard and a well-fed stature. Cas’ mouth watered, thinking of Dean’s cooking, Dean eating, Dean filling out to a healthy frame. He thought of the ease of getting a snack. He thought of the bagels in the backseat. 

“Hi there,” the man said, “Something I can do for you fellas today?” 

Cas had nearly forgotten that Dean followed him into the shop. He was there, though, right at Cas’ side, bumping him with his elbow. Cas stepped forward, offering his hand. 

“Hello, yes,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo. My, uh -- Dean remembered your studio.” 

The man shook his hand, firm and friendly. “We do some work for you?” He asked Dean, eyes flicking over Cas’ shoulder. Dean shook his head. 

“No, just driven by before. Thought we would check out the place.” 

“Didn’t think so,” the man said. “We don’t forget faces ‘round these parts.” He winked at Cas. Cas flushed. Was this putting down roots? Collecting faces, places, until you became tangled up in something simple and domestic? 

The man had shifted backward, giving Cas more room to breathe. “My name’s Howard,” he said. “What’s yours?” 

“Castiel,” Cas said. “This is Dean...like I said.” He glanced back at Dean, who was watching him carefully. Evaluating how well he played his human role? 

“Nice to meet you,” Howard said. “What were you thinking of getting done?” 

Cas’ gaze snapped back to Howard. He felt himself turn red. “I have a few ideas.” He didn’t elaborate. 

Howard didn’t seem fazed. He plucked a business card from the stand on the counter, circling a number and handing it over to Cas. “Well, we’ve got an email. If you decide you want to get some work done with us, feel free to send your ideas over and we can do some planning. One hundred an hour, shop minimum of sixty-five, and we’re closed on Wednesdays.” He smiled at Cas. 

“Thank you,” Cas said, pocketing the card. “Your shop is lovely.” 

“Thanks,” Howard said. His eyes shared the pride Dean’s did when he pulled a lasagne from the oven. Cas turned away, meeting Dean’s eyes. They looked...hurt? Hungry? 

“We can go, Dean,” he said, taking a step toward the door. 

Dean jolted into action, pushing through the doorway again and holding it for Cas. They settled back into the car. The tape had turned over, a Marianas Trench song about ‘one love’ momentarily filling the car before Dean reached over, muting it. 

“Dean?” Cas asked. “Are you alright?” 

Dean’s eyes snapped up to meet his own. They hadn’t lost their hungry look. He plastered a grin across his face, winning smile lost at his cheeks. “You, uh, you and Howard seemed to get on well,” he said. 

“He was very nice,” Cas agreed. “I liked the shop. I think I’ll return.” 

“I mean -- you seemed to get on,” Dean said. “You know, like you could get off.” He looked especially sick. 

Cas stared at him, searching for sense in the strained lines of Dean’s smile or the way his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Tight grips. 

“You mean sex,” Cas concluded. Dean huffed a laugh. 

“Yeah,” he said. He looked away from Cas. 

“No,” Cas said. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Dean said, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the parking lot. “I mean, Cas, you were pretty smitten with him.” 

“I liked how he looked,” Cas agreed. Dean’s face twitched again. “He’s broad. Strong. Well-fed.” 

“That’s what got you?” Dean asked. Cas’ gaze crawled along the quick slope of Dean’s shoulders. 

“I appreciate a man who lets himself indulge,” Cas said. The night before, Dean had eaten two burgers. Cas had relished in the pink color they brought to his skin, the shine the grease had given his lips. 

“Hah,” Dean said. “I guess I get why you liked me. Sober and scrawny isn't quite the same,” he quipped. Cas opened his mouth, but Dean turned the music up before he could say a thing, letting his hand rest by the volume button, protecting it from Cas. The tape had turned over yet again. Dua Lipa sang about new rules. 

Getting home took only ten more minutes. Jack was waiting at the bunker’s door, gardening gloves hanging off his hands. Dean and Cas stepped out of the Impala, waving back at the boy. 

“Dad!” He called, hand raised. “I weeded all of the flowerbeds today! The hostas are looking better!” 

“That’s fantastic, Jack,” Cas said. Dean caught his eye, the first time in fifteen minutes, quickly shifting his gaze to the backseat. Cas grabbed the box of bagels. “We brought things from Panera.” 

“Bagels?” Jack asked, smiling. “Have you tried the cinnamon swirl one? With the honey cream cheese?” 

“I have not,” Cas admitted, walking up to hug his son. 

“Oh, you’ll love it!” Jack said, arms stretched out around Cas to keep dirt from getting on his coat. “We could do that for dinner?” 

“Actually, kiddo, Sam should’ve taken some ground beef out earlier today,” Dean said, opening the bunker’s door.

“He did!” Jack said. “But he and Eileen are out. They went on a date,” he leaned in on the last words, like he was admitting a secret. Cas raised his eyebrows, playing along. Dean rolled his eyes. The trio made their way inside. 

“Did they say if they’ll be back for dinner?” Dean asked. 

“No, they’re gone for the night. I guess Eileen wants to go bowling,” Jack said. He tossed his gardening gloves into one of the bunker’s storage rooms, converted into a gardening haven. 

Dean threw him a thumbs up, taking the bagels from Cas and heading off to the kitchen. Cas watched him leave, watching the slump of his head as it hung down from his neck. He could imagine it held high, lifted by the thrill of a successful hunt, a memorable night out, a good meal. He wished he could raise it, by some miracle. Dean didn’t hunt much — hadn’t at all since Cas came back. Michigan had been administrative. They’d never picked up a gun. Would a hunt, a full hunt, lift him higher? 

“What did you and Dean do?” Jack asked. “You got back late.” 

“We didn’t mean to leave you,” Cas said. 

“It’s no big. I played PlayStation for a while and then gardened. It was nice to have some ‘self-care time,’” Jack said. Cas tilted his head. “Sam taught me that,” the boy added. 

Cas nodded, remembering one of Sam’s many recitations of a podcast he’d listened to about mediation or B-12 supplements. “We went to a tattoo parlour,” he said. Jack’s eyes widened. 

“Did you get a tattoo?” He asked. He looked over Cas’ body, like he’d be able to see ink through his shirtsleeves. 

“No,” Cas said. “But I think I will.” 

“Can I get one?” Jack asked. 

“Definitely not,” Cas said. 

“When I’m older?” Jack asked. 

“When you’re older,” Cas agreed. 

“Can we get matching ones?”

“Sure, Jack.” 

“Matching what?” Dean asked, passing through the war room. A kitchen towel was flung over his shoulder. Cas’ stomach fluttered. 

“Tattoos!” Jack said. “Dad and I are going to get them --” Cas raised his eyebrows. “-- when I’m older,” Jack added. “Do you want to get matching tattoos with us?” He asked, smile open and innocent. 

Dean stopped in his tracks. His eyes flickered between Cas and Jack. He looked like he wanted to frown, catching it at the last second and flipping the corners of his lips up. “No way,” he said, “Knowing you two, you’ll get a shooting star. Or a cartoon cat.” 

“Those are great ideas,” Jack said, nodding. “If you change your mind, you can join us. Though I think we’ll get ones for just us, too.” 

Dean smiled at that. It looked genuine. “Thanks, kid,” he said. “Dinner will be ready in forty, so if you want to shower, now’s the time.” 

“Okay!” Jack said, mimicking Dean’s thumbs-up from earlier. He bounced down the hallway toward his room. 

“I’m -- I’m gonna change,” Dean said. He threw his hand up in an aborted wave, dipping out of the room again. 

Cas dug his hands into his pockets. His fingers closed around the business card Howard had given him. He walked into the library, running his finger along the edge. Sam’s laptop was charging on the table. He cracked it open, logging into his profile. He pulled up his email, and composed a message. 

He was the only customer at Needlepoint Tattoos. Howard had emailed him back immediately, offering for him to come in first-thing the next morning, to which he’d readily agreed. Sam and Eileen hadn’t even caught him before he left, sleeping in after being out all night. Jack had been asleep, too, indulging in his teenage frame by sleeping until eleven nearly every day. Dean had been awake, though, sipping a coffee and reading a book. Deadeye Dick. Cas had gone into the kitchen for his own coffee. 

“Morning,” Dean said, looking up. “Hey, going somewhere?” His brow furrowed, taking in Cas’ appearance. He’d dressed in jeans and a tee shirt with a dark, loose flannel, per Howard’s recommendation. He supposed it was still rare to see him dressed-down; he still donned his suit many days and preferred soft, terrycloth fabrics when he was milling around the bunker or making quick trips to the grocery store. 

“I am,” Cas said. “I’ll be back.” 

“Where’re you goin’?” Dean asked, slurping the words around his coffee. 

“Needlepoint,” Cas admitted. He poured his coffee. He didn’t look at Dean. 

“Oh,” Dean said. “Going through with it, then?” 

“Yes,” Cas said. He braced himself. 

“What’re you gettin’?” Dean asked. Cas released. 

“A tattoo,” he said. He waited to hear Dean swallow. He heard the ceramic mug settle on the table. 

“Gotta say, man, it’s hard to tell when you’re being sarcastic when I can’t see your face. Are...are you joking? Or...not telling?” 

Cas turned to face Dean. Dean looked pale. The chili he made didn’t do enough to bring him back. He’d looked so beautiful the night before, layering his bowl with spaghetti and cheese. Cincinnati-style , he called it. The secret ingredient was a dash of chocolate. He was so warm, moving through the kitchen, prodding Cas to try it, try it, before making up a plain bowl. Cas wanted to suck the spices from his fingers. He wanted Dean to twirl spaghetti around his tongue. 

“Not telling,” he said. He turned back, quickly. He grabbed two of the bagels they’d bought, tossing them into the toaster. He peeled back the lid of a cream cheese tub. Honey-walnut, just as Jack suggested. 

“Okay,” Dean said. He spoke slowly. “Is it...personal?” 

“I suppose,” Cas said. He depressed the toaster lever. He took a breath. He felt lightheaded. He felt tired. “It is, to me.” 

“Okay,” Dean said again. “Will I get to see it after?” 

“You didn’t see the first,” Cas quipped. The toaster popped his bagels up. They singed his fingertips when he transferred them to a plate. Dean was quiet. The knife crackled over the toasted bagels when Cas smeared cream cheese onto them. 

“Cas,” Dean said, when Cas marched over to the kitchen table. 

“I don’t want to share this with you, Dean,” Cas said, quickly. “Please respect that.” 

“Okay,” Dean said again. His voice stayed slow. It dimmed, though. But Cas was closer. Dean didn’t need to shout. Cas took a bite of his bagel. It was rich, too, like the macaroni. “What time do you think you’ll be back?” Dean asked. “I’m probably going to finish this --” he held up his book, “-- by three. We could go to the bookstore?” 

“I’d like that,” Cas said, grateful for the change of topic. “I should be back by then. It’s somewhat small,” he admitted. Dean’s gaze hardened on him. There was a time when he could read the man’s mind. Now, it seemed Dean was trying to read his. 

“Great,” Dean said. His voice didn’t match his vocabulary. “Hope it goes well,” he said. “You get a bad vibe, you get out of there. I don’t care how burly that Howard guy was. Hepatitis is a bitch.” 

“Noted,” Cas said. Their eyes met for a moment. They smiled. Cas’ heart squeezed. He took another bite of his bagel. Dean watched him lick cream cheese from his finger. Cas tilted the plate toward him. “Would you like some?”

“Naw, Cas,” Dean said. “You eat. You need it.” 

“You do, too,” Cas said. 

“I’m not the one getting jabbed by needles today.” Dean winked. “Besides, I’m eyeing that box of Cookie Crunch.” 

“Save some for Jack,” Cas said, biting into his second bagel. Dean rolled his eyes, standing and walking over to the pantry. He poured himself a big bowl, filled it with oat milk, and sliced bananas on top. He plunked it back down on the table, dropping back into his chair. 

“I know you’re trying,” Cas said. Dean looked up at him, spoon dangling from his mouth. Cas hoped his tongue had gotten every last drop of milk.

“Hmm?” Dean hummed, digging his spoon back into his bowl. 

“With Sam, with the oat milk,” Cas said. Dean scoffed. Cas kept speaking anyway. “He sees it, you know, when you shop. I appreciate it, too, though I think I’m partial to cashew milk.” 

“You like rich things,” Dean said, quietly. 

“I do,” Cas said. “I liked these,” he said, looking down at his empty plate. He’d tasted the first bagel, at least. “I know you’re trying with Jack, too,” he said. 

“It’s nothing,” Dean mumbled. 

“It’s everything to me,” Cas said. Dean stopped eating. Cas wished he could take back the words. 

“It’s nothing,” Dean repeated, face flushing. He dug his spoon back into his bowl. Cas soldiered on. 

“It’s not. I know -- I cannot understand what you did. To Jack. Nor can I understand what he did to you. I was...too absent. I became the distant father I resented, the father Jack didn’t deserve. I should have been there. I could’ve --” Cas’ throat dried up. His coffee did nothing to wet it. Dean grabbed his shoulder, squeezed it. Cas’ eyes flickered around the room. 

“Hey, hey, Cas, Cas, come on, come back down, it’s just us, we’re here, we’re safe, you’re okay, I’m here, Cas, I’m here, come on back now, it’s alright, you’re alright, we’re okay,” Dean said, comforts falling from his lips like hail. Cas felt them bounce off his eardrums. They never seemed to reach his brain. 

Dean squeezed his shoulder again. He had moved around the kitchen table, straddling the bench to sit across from Cas. His other hand moved up to Cas’ face, holding his cheek. 

“I’m here, you’re here, it’s alright, come on now, you’re okay, you’re safe, I’m safe, we’re alright, you’re alright, hey, Cas, hey, yeah, just like that, come on, come with me, come on back, yeah, Cas, hey, yeah, hey, just like that,” Dean said, holding Cas’ gaze every time his eyes rolled past Dean’s. Cas could feel him squeezing his shoulder, kneading it under his palm. 

“What just --” Cas said, jerking back into his body. His skin hummed, like a river ran right underneath it. His face tingled. His lungs burned. 

“A panic attack, Cas,” Dean said. He furrowed his brow. “You don’t remember?” 

“The panic? I just felt it, I feel it,” Cas said. Dean’s hands had pulled away from Cas when he jerked, but now one returned to his shoulder. It squeezed him once. 

“Cas, this isn’t your first panic attack,” Dean said. “You had one two days ago.” 

“I did?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Big one.” He huffed another laugh. It was mostly air, no humor at all. “Actually, I’m not surprised your brain keeps you from accessing them. They’re pretty scary.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. 

“I mean,” Dean said, rubbing his neck. “I spent some time in there. Spent as much as you, I might freak, too.” He cringed. At the memory of the Empty, Cas concluded. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Cas clarified. 

“Just glad you got back quick,” Dean said. He moved back across from Cas, shoving a big spoonful of cereal into his mouth. 

Dean had wished him luck again just before he left. It was a kind gesture, but unnecessary. Castiel felt at ease at Needlepoint. His skin hummed with anticipation, but his heart beat steadily. 

“Hey, Castiel,” Howard said, venturing out of the back. “Right on time, that’s what I like to see.” 

“I respect your business,” Cas said. “You can call me Cas.”

“I respect the nickname,” Howard joked. “You can come on back with me, I’ve got a station going for you.” He led Cas into the back, where one of the tattoo stations was already half-prepped. Cas sat down on the chair, leaning into the padding. Howard sat on a stool beside him, unlocking an iPad.

“Gotta say,” Howard said, clicking through some files. “You’ve got some big ideas for your body. Starting from scratch?” 

“In a way,” Cas said. “I’ve gotten tattooed before.” 

“Yeah?” Howard said. “Something I can see? I don’t mean to pry, I just like to see how ink heals on someone’s skin before I add more.” 

Cas nodded. He peeled his flannel off, then lifted the hem of his tee shirt. Howard gave his ribs a once-over, then turned back to the iPad. 

“It give you any problems?” He asked. 

“No,” Cas said. 

“Then I think we’re good to go. Here, take a look,” Howard said, flipping the iPad to face Cas. 

Cas smiled at the design. He and Howard had emailed a few times the night before, hashing out how they would begin Cas’ inking. They’d agreed to start with some of the smaller pieces, to let Cas get accustomed to healing tattoos again, and to give him time to further consider the larger pieces. These were Howard’s concerns. 

“It looks perfect,” Cas said. “Exactly as I described.” 

“Alright,” Howard said. “I’m going to print your stencil. I need your elbow up on this here pad,” he swung an armrest up from the side of the chair, “Pinky facing me. Then you know the drill: shave, sterilize, stencil, final checks, and then ink.” 

“I’m familiar,” Cas said. He smiled at Howard. Howard smiled back. 

“Maybe you’ll even give me the story behind this little razor,” Howard said. 

“Maybe,” Cas echoed. He didn’t. Howard shaved the size of his arm, placed the stencil, and dipped the needle into the inkpot. He traced the rigid lines, the three-pointed tip, the slim hilt. He shaded the sides, giving the blade depth. Cas told him about Jack’s courses at the day school. He told him about the garden they started. He told him about his dream to raise bees. 

“What about that guy?” Howard asked once, wiping excess ink from the blade’s edge. “He part of the bee plan?” 

“I hope,” Cas said. He didn’t say more. Howard didn’t press. 

Four hours later, three hundred dollars poorer, Castiel walked out of Needlepoint. Saniderm clung to the edge of his forearm. His flannel shielded it from the sun. He unlocked his car, sliding in behind the driver’s seat. He undid the button at the flannel’s cuff, hiking the fabric up to his elbow. He bent his arm, looking at the tattoo. It was a near-perfect replica, save for the center line, which zigged and zagged, up and down. 

Once, it was the only thing that could kill him. Now, he was vulnerable to all sorts of maladies and injuries: tuberculosis, sepsis, malnutrition, heartbreak. But he was alive. He was with his son, who grew into a great man with each passing day. He was with his friends, who reaped love from fields of tragedy. He was with Dean, whom he would heal, someway. 

Dean tried to heal him; that much was true. He’d been forced into a doctor’s appointment sometime in the days after his rescue, getting a full panel. He’d come back healthy, from a physiological standpoint. The doctor said the nightmares would lessen the further he got from his ‘accident’. They had promised the sleepwalking and the dissociative hazes would lessen when the nightmares stopped. They promised the lapses in memory would lessen when the hazes stopped. Castiel hadn’t been on-time for his tattoo appointment because he’d woken up early; he hadn’t slept through the night. Sleeplessness, too, could kill him now. He would heal. He had to heal. He had to heal Dean. 

He carved his heartbeat down the center of his blade. He would not die in a flash of light and a scorch of wings. He would die with a whimper, a sigh, the slowing beat of a tired drum. The blade didn’t scare him. He scared himself enough.

Chapter Text

“What’s it mean?” the artist had asked, wiping down the skin of his ribs and laying on the stencil. It was cold, slightly tacky from the drying disinfectant. Castiel’s left arm was stretched above his head, pulling the skin taught to his bones. He breathed steadily, trying not to let the growl of his stomach amplify over the rock music filtering through the studio. Def Leppard, his memory provided. Dean showed you this song. 

“It’s a family symbol,” Castiel said. It was close enough to the truth. The artist peeled off the stencil, revealing the Enochian lettering in a glossy violet blue. 

“I got a crest on my shoulder. That look good to you?” They had asked, motioning to his ribs. Castiel nodded. “Great, let me know if you need a break, otherwise we’ll get started,” they said, testing the motor on the tattoo machine. Castiel relaxed into the cushioned table as the needle bit into his skin. 

Castiel woke to a hand on his shoulder, too small and light to be Dean’s. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat, matted his hair to his scalp, chilled his chest, which rattled with shaky breath. 

“Dad?” Jack asked, eyes glittering with a touch of gold in the dark. “Are you back?” 

“Back?” Cas asked, trying to blink his eyes into adjusting. His sheets were tangled around his waist and legs, torn completely from their hospital corners. His pants, too, were twisted, the drawstring digging into his left hip. Thrashing. 

“Yeah,” Jack said. “You were in one of your hazes.” Cas could see Jack’s face illuminated by the glow of his eyes. The boy’s forehead was drawn in. His mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“I’m alright, Jack,” Cas said, sitting up. The room spun around him for a moment. “I’m sorry for waking you.” 

“I wasn’t asleep,” Jack said. “It’s only 2 a.m.” 

“Oh,” Cas said. Sam had once complained that Cas woke him at 2 a.m. to update him on the progress of the apocalypse. Like clothing, and cooking, and movies, this was another place to make a personal choice. Perhaps he would sleep well enough to eventually find his own pattern. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack asked. “It seemed like you were caught in a memory.”

“A memory?” Cas asked. “Why?”

“You -- uh -- you kept saying ‘What did you do to me?’” Jack’s lip trembled. “It’s like you couldn’t even see me, even though I was standing right here, right in front of you.” 

“Oh, Jack,” Cas said, shifting back to his headboard and opening his arms. Jack crawled into his chest, pressing his face into the side of Cas’ neck. Cas scrubbed his arm up and down Jack’s shoulder, trying to soothe the boy. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It was just a bad dream. Thank you for waking me.”

“It wasn’t,” Jack said. Cas paused, head tilting down to look at Jack. “If it was a dream, I could’ve stopped it. I tried to stop it. It wasn’t a dream.” His voice was small. He was small, tucked into the crook of Cas’ neck, shoulders cradled by Cas’ arm. 

“Hmm,” Cas hummed. “A memory, then, like you said. But I’m alright. It’s over now.” 

Jack nodded into Cas’ neck. His hair tickled Cas’ ear. “I get scared sometimes,” he said. 

“I know,” Cas said. “It’s okay to be scared. It keeps us safe.” 

“I had a nightmare the other night,” Jack said. He didn’t talk about his fears often; like other children, his resilience was impressive. Cas wondered if his healing abilities extended to his soul. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas offered. His thumb traced old Enochian prayers into Jack’s shoulder. 

“It was a memory-dream,” Jack said. “I like those the least.” 

“Because they feel real?”

“Because they were.” Jack pressed closer into Cas’ side. “It was about Sam and Dean.” 

Cas’ hand stilled again. “Which memory was it?” 

“The box.” 

Cas pressed a long kiss to Jack’s head. “I should have been there, Jack. I should have kept you safe, should have been a father, you never should have had to experience any of that.”

“I don’t think they wanted to hurt me,” Jack said. “They were just scared.” 

“But they scared you,” Cas acknowledged. 

“Sort of,” Jack said. “Lucifer scared me. But he made me afraid of them, too.”

A chill ran through Cas’ body. The sweat on his skin had long evaporated. “Are you still scared, Jack?” He asked.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Not now.” 

“What do you mean?” Cas asked. His eyes had adjusted to the dark. He could see his closet, could imagine the duffel bag stored on the top rack. 

“Well, before, we had all these big problems,” Jack said. “And that made everything so complicated. Dean wouldn’t try to shoot me now.” 

Cas swallowed hard. “He never should have done that,” he bit out. “I would’ve put myself between you, Jack, I couldn’t -- I couldn’t move and I wanted to, I wanted to be there, to stand between you, I’m so sorry, Jack.” His head throbbed, like he wanted to cry, but the sweat that had run down his back had taken all of the water from his body. 

“I know, Dad,” Jack said. “I’m just glad things are peaceful.” 

Cas nodded harshly. He wiped his face with this hand. Jack poked his arm. 

“Looks cool,” he said. His voice had dropped into a half-sleepy hum. Cas twisted his arm, showing Jack the full tattoo. The Saniderm had come off a week ago, but it was almost fully healed. Cas suspected Jack had elected to put him on a fast-track, but appreciated that it had still scabbed and peeled slightly. Running his hand over it, smoothing unscented soaps and lotions over the ink, had become worship his body so desperately needed. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Why don’t you let Dean see it?” Jack asked, yawning. Cas tapped his shoulder and the boy sat up. Cas shifted them down, laying down fully onto his pillow. Jack settled next to him, rolled onto his side. “You showed me the day you got it done, and I saw you showing Sam and Eileen the day after.”

“How do you know Dean hasn’t seen it?” Cas asked, a hint of teasing in his voice. Jack was plenty observant enough to know. 

“He always looks at your arm funny ever since you got it,” Jack said. “And you always wear long sleeves around him.”

Cas titled his arm back, bringing it up so that he could see the blade. “I’ve done a great deal for Dean,” he said, voice soft. “Rebelled, killed, died. It was time I did something for myself.” 

“Cool,” Jack said. He squirmed for a second, sheet rustling, then said, “Why don’t you love him anymore?” 

Cas’ head flipped on the pillow, facing his son. Jack was thoroughly pressed into the pillow, eyes closed. “What?” Cas asked. 

“Well, you definitely loved him,” Jack said, another yawn cutting through his words. “But when we got you back from the Empty, you don’t anymore.” His voice was even, like it was obvious.

“Why would you say I loved Dean?” Cas asked, brow furrowed. 

“He told us,” Jack said. His words were dropping off now as he sank further into sleep. “When we got back home and you weren’t there. He didn’t mean to, I don’t think.” He paused, cracking one eye open. “Don’t tell him I told you.”

“I won’t,” Cas promised, chest heavy. So they knew. “But...why wouldn’t I love him anymore?” 

“You never tell him,” Jack said. “Sam and Eileen say it all the time.” 

“Well, they’re different people.”

“I’ve seen movies, Dad,” Jack said. “You would say it.” He nosed into his pillow further. 

Cas watched him for a while. He used to spend entire nights this way, keeping guard over Jack, or Dean, or Sam. He once kept guard over Bobby. Now the pull of sleep drug him under, too. He flipped his pillow over, keeping the damp from his face. 

“Goodnight, Jack,” he said, eyes shutting. “I love you.” 

The grind of the blender drew Cas into the kitchen after his run, a meandering four miles that took him out past a wildflower field and settled an ache in his thighs. He slept two hours after his conversation with Jack, slipping out of the room when he realized that was all he would get for the night. Exhaustion-induced sleep wasn’t doctor-recommended, but it would have to do.

Sam and Eileen were at the counter, chatting over the whir of Sam’s morning smoothie being made. Sam looked up when Cas entered, pointing him out to Eileen. 

“Morning,” Cas signed, walking over to the fridge and grabbing his water bottle. 

“Good morning,” Eileen signed. “How was the run?” 

“Good,” Cas signed, speaking as he did so. “There’s a field about a mile from here covered in charlock. The bees love it.”

“Nice,” Sam said, pouring his smoothie. “We can go by this weekend?” 

“I’d like that,” Cas said. He and Sam had struck a tentative run-buddy agreement; once a week they joined each other, otherwise leaving Cas to his long ambles and Sam to his power runs. 

“Count me out,” Eileen signed. “I promised Garth I’d be on-call for a potential vampire nest.” 

“Do you need us to stay?” Sam signed.

“No,” Eileen signed, “It’s not a big one. And I have a big knife.” 

Cas chuckled at that. He peeled off his zip-up, using the hem of it to mop his neck. Eileen whistled. 

“Hey, handsome,” she said, “When did you get so hunky?” She winked at Cas, then at Sam, who had initially looked up at her words, only to find her watching Cas. 

“When I began implementing regular exercise and a rigid diet routine,” Cas said, deadpan. Eileen smiled at him, lips stretching around her gums in a silent laugh. 

“Rigid my ass,” Sam muttered. Eileen raised her eyebrows. He repeated it in sign. “You eat like Dean.” 

Cas smiled at that. Dean had been back to his normal habits the past week, biting into jerky or sipping his version of a smoothie, which included bananas, peanut butter, and a chocolate drizzle. Cas took to it instantly. 

“If I have to have a human body, I might as well enjoy it,” Cas said. Eileen signed his words in tandem; they had all heard that phrase before.

“I like it,” Eileen signed. “You look like the coolest dad ever. Gray hair, beefy body, tattoos...you’re a DILF, Cas,” she teased. 

“Hey now,” Sam signed, “We’re going to have to move if you keep that up.” Eileen rolled her eyes, grabbing at Sam’s tee shirt. 

“Give me a baby and you’ll be a DILF, too,” she said, voice low and teasing. Sam choked on his smoothie. 

“Who’s a DILF?” Dean asked, wandering into the kitchen. His robe was tied loosely around his waist, but more snug than in weeks before, and he yawned into his fist. Cas wrapped his arm with his pullover. 

“Cas,” Sam said, as Eileen said, “Sam.” 

Dean blinked up, eyes darting between Cas and Sam. They landed on Sam, then on Eileen. “Are you…” he said, trailing off and making a big, indeterminate gesture. 

“No,” Eileen said. Dean took a big breath. “Who needs kids when I have you, Dean?” She teased. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever,” he said, pushing Sam away from the appliances. “C’mon, move, Sammy,” he said. “If you’re going to wake me up at the ass-crack of dawn with your smoothies you’re letting me make bacon pancakes in peace.” 

“That’s why I’m the smart one,” Eileen said. “Just go Deaf. I could sleep through a jackhammer pounding right next to the bed.” 

Dean snorted. “Really, Sam?” He said. “When there’s a lady sleeping next to you?” 

“Wha -- seriously, Dean?” Sam said, “That’s gross.” 

“It’s natural, Sammy,” Dean said, getting out the griddle. He leaned across the island, ducking close to Eileen. “You know,” he signed, “I’ve never gotten a bad review.” He winked. Eileen stuck out her tongue. 

“I’ve never met a woman who wasn’t a great liar,” she signed. They locked eyes. Dean broke out laughing, Eileen following behind. 

Dean dug out the baking basket, pulling flour and baking soda. His eyes flicked up to Cas, bright and happy. Cas lost his breath, like he’d just run another four miles. 

“Want any?” Dean asked. His eyes left Cas’ face, taking in his tee shirt and the jacket Cas had wrapped around his forearm. When he looked back up at Cas, his eyes had dimmed. 

“I’d like to shower,” Cas said. “But if there’s any after, I’d love some.” 

“You two,” Sam said, “Should feel lucky that Jack can still heal plaque.” He shook his head, taking another swig of his smoothie. 

“Yeah, well what is family for?” Dean asked, griping. “Where is the kid, anyway? He want in on this?” 

“He’s not in his room,” Eileen said, “The door was open.”

“He’s in mine,” Cas said. 

“Is he okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yes, he was there because of me, actually.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yes, Sam, I’m fine,” Cas said, hoping he sounded gracious. “Though,” he added, looking down at himself, “I suppose that means I won’t be showering until later, since all my clothes are being held hostage.” 

“You can take some of my stuff,” Dean said. His voice was quiet, and he was standing still. Eileen didn’t even realize he’d spoken until Cas’s eyes narrowed at him. Dean flushed. “I mean, you stink, dude, you just were on a run.” His chin was tilted in toward his chest. He measured out a cup of flour. 

“Alright,” Cas said. “Thank you.” 

“Mm,” Dean hummed. Sam had become very interested in his smoothie. Eileen’s gaze flickered between them. 

“Okay, then,” Cas said, shifting. He left, catching Eileen throwing a “What’s up?” at Dean out of the corner of his eye. 

Dean’s bathroom was identical to Cas’ in construction, but he had still made it his own. His shampoo, for one, wasn’t Cas’ eucalyptus scent, but sandalwood. Dean had also mounted a mirror opposite the changing stall, full-length, with a clear film over it to prevent fogging. Cas undressed in front of it, letting his shorts and tee shirt fall to the tile. He rarely saw his whole body like this, naked and normal. His tattoos stood out against his skin, black ink contrasting with the paler hue of his ribs, looking as razor-sharp as his blade on his forearm. They were helped by his hair lightening, gray and white strands creeping in at his temples and through his curls. His hair curled, even, evidence of his time out of the Empty, time that his body had taken to grow and change. He ran his fingertips along his tattoos, along the stretch lines that crossed his thighs and hips, along the jut of his stomach and hipbones. 

He stepped under the warm spray, careful to keep his arm out of the direct torrent of water. He cracked the shampoo open, letting the scent fill the shower stall, warm and familiar, like the cookies Dean baked over the weekend. White chocolate macadamia nut, an imitation of a fast-food version Jack had gotten before. Dean was trying. Jack was trying. Cas could try. 

The washcloth he’d lathered with Dean’s citrus body wash skimmed over his skin, leaving a trail of soap that clung to the fat and muscle of his body. He’d been in shower stalls before, as a human, where the clinical smell of cheap soap left him feeling sanitized but not clean. He’d washed his hair with shampoo that smelled like nothing at all, plastic flip-flops on his feet. There had been a mirror in the shelter, clouded and scratched over many years. His body had looked foreign in it. Sloped, not squared. Now, his shoulders were strong. His waist was thick. His legs were sturdy. He passed the washcloth over the inner bone of his forearm, keeping the scented, sudsy bubbles away from his tattoo. Soon, that place would also be forbidden. 

He ducked between the bathroom and Dean’s bedroom, towel wrapped around his hips, letting the clean scent of the bathroom’s air mix with the hearty smell of bacon from the kitchen. He’d been in Dean’s bedroom before, plenty of times, but never with the bed unmade. Never with dirty clothes on the floor. Cas stepped around them, brow furrowed. Dean did say he’d been awoken early. 

He found clothes easily enough, taking one of Dean’s henleys and a pair of his jeans, digging a pair of 35s out from under a pair of 32s. 

“Hey, saved you some,” Dean said when he re-entered the kitchen. Sam and Eileen were gone, but Dean sat at the kitchen table, halfway through a plate of pancakes. Cas sat across from him, taking off the tea towel Dean had draped over his plate. He cracked open the bottle of syrup, drizzling it around the stack. “Going out?” Dean asked around a forkful. 

“Back to Needlepoint,” Cas said. Dean’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Can I ask?” He questioned. It didn’t sound like a tease. 

“If you’re alright that I may not answer,” Cas said, cutting into his stack. 

“Adding on? Or something new?” Dean asked. 

“Something new,” Cas said. Dean whistled, low. 

“You really are getting blasted,” he said, shaking his head slightly. 

“You don’t like it?” Cas asked, head tilting. 

“No, man, I just -- I met Jimmy, and I never thought his body would end up as a tattoo artist’s sketchbook.” 

Cas squinted. “You think it’s inappropriate. Even though it’s my body, it’s in his image, so I should respect it.” He put his fork down. 

“What?” Dean said, scowling around his mouthful. “No. Who the fuck said that?” 

“You did, just now.” 

“I sure as fuck did not. I just -- you know, he was this weird, Catholic guy. Like, Claire might have been the result of the first time he ever had sex. No way he would ever get tatted.”

“I fail to see how sex and tattoos correlate.” 

“Well, it’s like,” Dean stabbed another piece of pancake, “It’s bad-boy behavior. You know? All the chicks dig a bad boy. Or, uh, the fellas.” He shoved the piece into his mouth. 

“I don’t mean to disrespect him,” Cas said, hand curling around his forearm. “I took so much, so much from him, and Claire, and Amelia, and I don’t mean to...I just…”

“Hey, Cas, it’s, uh, it’s fine,” Dean said, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No?” Cas asked. 

“No, I mean, it’s your body. Do what you will,” Dean said, flush rising into his cheeks. The pancakes were working. 

“I like them,” Cas said, eyes tracing the fabric of the henley that obscured his arm and ribs. “They make me feel more at-home. I’ve done something to this body, so it must really be mine.” 

Dean was smiling again when he looked up, rolling his eyes. He’d done this before, when Cas said something he called ‘tote-bag profound’. Cas wants to say it again. 

“‘Done something,’” Dean repeated. “Yeah, alright Bob Ross, go get your happy little accident.” 

Cas tilted his head. “There’s nothing wrong with having a tree as a friend,” he said. Dean’s eyes widened, glancing down at his arm, then back up to Cas’ face. He frowned.

“Oh, come on,” he said, menacing Cas with his fork. “It’s not a tree, is it?” 

“It’s not a tree,” Cas agreed. Dean rolled his eyes again. He smiled so beautifully. 

The door to Needlepoint rang as Cas stepped inside. Two other people were inside the waiting room, young girls about Claire’s age. Castiel gave them a quick smile and sat down under the flash art. One of the girls leaned over to him.

“Tattoo or piercing?” She asked. Her friend bumped her with her elbow. 

“Tattoo,” Cas said. 

The girl smiled. “Nice. We’re piercing,” she added, nodding toward her friend. 

“Nice,” Cas echoed. Howard came through the gap between the reception desk and the studio body. 

“Girls, Audrey’s almost ready for ya, so head on back,” he said, pointing a thumb back into the studio before turning to Cas. “Ready, Cas?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Cas said, following Howard and the two girls into the studio. The girls peeled off, heading toward a back room. Howard brought Cas over to the station he was at last time. 

“How’s the knife?” Howard asked, tilting the armrest up. 

“Healing well,” Cas said, pushing up his sleeve and resting his elbow on the pad. “No problems.” 

Howard gave it a look, twisting Cas’ arm under the station’s spotlight. “Looks good to me,” he said. “You still thinking the wand on the opposite bone?” 

“Yes,” Cas said. “I want them to frame my arm.” 

“Works for me,” Howard said. He unlocked the iPad, handing it over. 

“This is excellent,” Cas mused. 

“Any changes?” Howard asked.

“Could --” Cas stopped. Howard nodded to him, prompting him to continue. “Could you add in some honeycomb?”

“Behind it?” Howard asked. Cas nodded. “Sure, let me just pull up the pattern --” he took the iPad from Cas, tapping the screen a few times, then pinching and pulling as he sized the pattern up. “Like this?” 

“Exactly,” Cas said. 

“It’ll wrap a little bit around the bone,” Howard said. “That alright?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “It’s my body, I’m fine with it.” 

“Works for me, brother,” Howard said. “I’ll print your stencil.” 

Howard and Cas were chatting when the girls emerged. Howard pulled back, calling to them, “Hey, ladies! Let me take a look.” 

The girls walked over, turning their heads to display silver bars through the tops of their ears, the metal shining against their purple-red dark skin. 

“Looking good,” Howard said. 

“Thanks!” The girl who spoke to Cas said. “That looks cool, too.” She motioned at the tattoo. 

“Thank you,” Cas said. 

“It’ll look better when it’s done,” Howard said. “Go on, I’ve got work to do.” He stuck out his elbow. The girl tapped it with her own. 

“Bye, Dad,” she said. 

“Bye, Mr. Jefferson,” her friend echoed. 

“You have a daughter?” Cas asked, when Howard turned back to him. 

“I have two,” he said, “The other girl’s not mine, that’s Nevaeh’s friend. My other girl’s eight, so I don’t let her stick needles through anything but her earlobes yet.” 

“Nevaeh is a beautiful name,” Cas said. 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Howard laughed. “Castiel. I can see why an angel would like ‘Heaven’ in reverse.” 

“Oh, it’s much better than ‘Castiel’. I’ve never found my name on a keychain.” 

“That why you went with ‘Jack’?” 

“I didn’t pick it,” Cas said. “His mother did. But yes, he’s found his name on keychains. Claire, too.” 

“You have a daughter, too?” 

“In a way. She’s not ‘mine’, not in the traditional sense.” 

“She your guy’s?” 

“Even less so.” 

“Well, whatever works. Desiree, the friend? Might as well be mine. Lord knows I’m the one who raised her.” The needles danced across the inside of Cas’ forearm, wrapping onto the outer face as they traced honeycomb. 

“May I ask you something, Howard?” Cas said. Howard nodded. “Sometimes...I feel like I barely know how to live, myself.” Howard stopped tattooing. “Life is...very difficult. Jack and Claire...they haven’t had easy lives, either. Lives they deserve. How do I help them? How do I keep them safe?” 

“You don’t, Cas,” Howard said, an easy laugh threading through his words. “You can’t. Like you said, it’s a big, bad place out there.” 

“This is not comforting,” Cas said. Howard wetted a disposable wipe, clearing the excess ink from Cas’ skin. He laughed again. 

“All I know, Cas,” he said, “Truly, all I know, twenty years into this parenting thing, is that you can’t keep them from the world out there. But you can be a safe place for them to come back to. Nevaeh and Alexis know that. They can always come back home.” 

“I’m not sure I’ve built a home,” Cas said. “I’ve only moved them around. Claire...she’s different. She’s landed in a good place. But Jack...I’m not sure.” 

“Good thing about homes is you can always make a new one,” Howard said. “I’ve done that a few times, too.” 

“Hmm,” Cas hummed. 

“Hmm, indeed,” Howard said. He laughed again. 

“Thank you,” Cas said. 

“You’re welcome. Now, this sleeve isn’t going to finish itself.” Howard picked the machine back up. 

“It’s not a sleeve,” Cas said. 

“Not yet,” Howard teased. 

When Cas left, Saniderm clinging to his arm once again, he felt tired. Deep, heavy-eye tired. He felt tired driving back to the bunker. Tired opening the steel door. Tired descending the stairs, ready to walk straight to his room and sleep. Tired when he detoured through the kitchen, grabbing a box of crackers and slices of cheese. Tired when he ate them, walking down the hall, body aching for something to slide into the hollowing spaces. Tired when he slipped under his covers, bed open and ready for him from where Jack hadn’t bothered to make it. 

He slept, but he did not rest. He dreamed of the Empty. 

He’s lying on his back, arms by his side, legs together. It’s pitch black. There’s a thrum in the air, like a drumbeat muffled by a soft mallet. A heartbeat muffled by blood. Fabric slides off of his face, off of his body. His eyes open. It sits to the side of him. It looks like Meg. 

“Welcome home, honey,” Meg says. “Sorry, I didn’t leave them a body to burn this time, but I didn’t want you to miss out on the experience. Remember this?” She pulls a cloth from her pocket, yellow and gauzy. “I bet Dean sure does. He’s the one who ripped it. He’s the one who wrapped you. How terrible of me, to deprive you of your funeral rites.” 

“I thought you wanted to rest,” Cas says. 

“I’m not sleepy yet,” Meg says. “And I’d hate to cut the playdate short.” 

“I see,” Cas says. 

“We’re playing dress-up,” Meg says. “Are you familiar with it?”

“The children’s game,” Cas says. “I’m familiar.” 

“Not just for kids, Castiel,” Meg says. “You’ve played it, too. Remember when Dean dressed you up like a little cowboy?” 

A cowboy hat settles on Cas’ head. “That was for a case,” he says, removing it. 

“And this is for fun,” Meg says. “Come on, Castiel, play along. You could be a doctor --” a lab coat and stethoscope wrap around Cas’ shoulders, “--or a clerk --” the outfit changes, blue vest and name tag bringing Cas back to his days at the Gas-N-Sip, “--or even an angel.” 

Wings. Cas feels them unravel from his back, broad and strong and full. They beat against the emptiness, feathers fluttering in the space. 

“This isn’t real,” Cas says. 

“As real as anything else here is,” Meg counters. “Smile, Clarence, you look cute.”

“Meg is here,” Cas says. “The real one. She isn’t you. You aren’t her.” 

“You’re right,” It counters, curling Meg’s face up into a smirk. “I’m playing dress-up too. And I’m tired of this outfit.”

Cas blinks and Balthazar stands before him. “Oh Cassie,” he says, “What have you done?” He walks around Cas, taking in his appearance. He touches his wings. They flare back. 

“Don’t touch me,” Castiel snaps. Balthazar coos. 

“I mean, I was never Dean Winchester’s biggest fan, but all this lost, for him?” 

“Dean didn’t take my wings.” 

“No, darling, you did that all by yourself. And they were magnificent.” 

“They aren’t real. I’m dead.” 

“As am I, and you couldn’t forget that, could you?” Balthazar taunts, coming back around to face Castiel. A bloodstain appears on his breast, growing to wet his chest with red. “Truly, brother,” he says, “what have you done?”

Cas turns away. He looks back at Naomi. 

“I didn’t know the crack would turn into a chasm,” Naomi gripes. “I would have taken you out of commission if I knew what trouble you’d be.” 

Cas holds her eye. He doesn’t speak. 

“Silence? You’re acting like a little boy, Castiel,” Naomi says. Cas’ body shifts, Naomi towers over him. His clothes are loose around him, his coat swallowing him. 

“What have you done to me?” He squeaks, voice high. 

“To you?” Naomi asks. “You’re too blind to realize you’re still in a vessel. To Jimmy, Castiel. Be reasonable.” 

Cas looks down at a child’s hands. Jimmy, age eight. 

“Can you even see me?” Naomi asks. “The real me? Or are you so infatuated with humanity that I’m just another face to you?” She slaps Castiel, hand cracking across his cheek. It jerks him back to his adult size. She hits him again. He tastes blood, metallic and sharp, all the molecules coming together. 

There’s a hand on his arm. “Cas?” Dean asks. “Hey, buddy, you with me?” 

“Dean?” Cas asks, lifting his head to meet Dean’s. Naomi is gone. Dean wraps a hand around his head, cradling it. 

“Yeah, Cas. I’m here. I got you.” 

Cas’ heart sinks. “You’re here. You’re dead.” 

“No, man, I’m not. You are, but we’re gonna fix that. Okay? You and me, Cas. We’re gonna fix this.” 

“I can’t -- I’m not --”

“Hey,” Dean says, voice firm and commanding. “I’m getting you out of here. No Purgatory repeats, alright?” 

“This isn’t --”

“You gotta do this for me, okay, Cas?” Dean holds his gaze steady. Cas can barely see him, eyes swimming. “If you love me, you’ll do this for me.” The grip on Cas’ arm tightens. Cas collapses under it. 

“I don’t -- I don’t love you. I don’t love you. I don’t,” he stammers. It keeps its grip on him anyway. 

Cas woke in terror. A hand was on his shoulder, holding him to the bed. Firm. Steady. Dean. 

“Dean?” Cas croaked, voice rough. Had he been screaming? 

“Cas,” Dean said, releasing some of the pressure on his shoulder. Cas grabbed his arm, keeping his hand against his shirt. “Big one, huh?” 

“It -- it was -- and it looked,” Cas stammered, eyes watering. Dean pulled him up, pulled him to a sitting position. He opened his arms. Cas leaned into them, face in Dean’s chest. He smelled like sandalwood. His shoulders, while broader, were still thin. His Dean. The real Dean. 

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean said, arms light around Cas’ back. “It’s over. You’re awake.” 

Cas cried. He pulled at Dean’s shoulders, trying to press himself further into Dean’s body. Dean laughed, the rumble running down Cas’ spine. 

“C’mon, dude, gonna wrinkle my shirt,” he said. Cas pulled back. He wiped his nose. Licked his lips. They were faintly metallic. Dean looked at him, brow drawn. 

“You bleedin’?” He asked, hand moving forward like he was going to check, the movement aborted before his thumb could press to Cas’ lip. 

“Probably,” Cas said. 

“And here I thought you’d spent enough time doing that this morning,” Dean mumbled. 

“There wasn’t much blood,” Cas said. “I don’t drink.”

“Yeah, we’re real fun at parties,” Dean said. A smile graced his face. Cas’ throat thickened again. His head throbbed. 

“I do not like the pain of crying,” he said. Dean laughed again. 

“Yeah, well, you’re probably dehydrated. A run, plus a tattoo, plus a meltdown will do that to ya.” 

Cas scowled. “I didn’t have a ‘meltdown.’” Dean grabbed his hands, halfway through their air-quotes. 

“Sure, Britney,” he said. He let go of Cas’ hands, digging them into his pockets. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go for a drive. You need water, sugar, and probably caffeine. You know who has that? Dunkin’ Donuts. They call it a ‘coolatta’; you’ll go nuts for it.” There was delight in his face, the same delight he showed when they went to Panera. 

“Alright,” Cas agreed. 

Sam and Eileen were out, apparently, on yet another date. “Those two,” Dean said, “have been on more dates this month than I’ve been on in my life.” Jack had declined to go, halfway into a Nuggets-Grizzlies basketball game. 

“Wouldn’t the Oklahoma team make more sense? Geographically?” Dean asked, throwing the Impala into gear. 

“He thinks ‘Nuggets’ is a better name than ‘Thunder,’” Cas explained. 

“Can’t fault him,” Dean said. He glanced at Cas. “So, how was your appointment?”

Cas looked back at him. Dean held up a hand.

“I don’t mean to pry, alright. Your body, your choice, whatever. But...are you alright? That guy say something to set you off?” 

“Howard?” Cas asked. “No, he’s very kind. I met his daughter. She’s about Claire’s age.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked. He didn’t sound particularly interested. 

“I asked him for parenting advice,” Cas said.

“Oh,” Dean said. “I mean -- I know you missed some stuff with Jack, but you’re --”

“I’m not sure Jack is safe, Dean,” Cas said, talking over him. Dean’s jaw clacked shut. “At the bunker.” 

“Safe?” Dean asked. “Do -- do you know something…?”

“I want him to be safe, Dean,” Cas said. “And that building...it’s too complicated. He died there. He was locked away there.” Dean grimaced. “Not to mention that I died there, too. I left him. I was dead. He only had you.” 

The rumble of the Impala filled the quiet. Her tires crunched over beaten-down roads. Her engine hummed. 

“He -- uh, he didn’t,” Dean said. Cas looked at him. Watched the sunlight glint off his cheekbones. Watched him chew his lip. 

“What?” Cas said, throat raw. 

“Sam, um, Sam took care of him, best he could. And Eileen. If, uh, if we hadn’t gotten you back…” Dean trailed off, eyes locked on the road. “I’d called Jody. Asked if she had room. And Garth. They were, well, they were going to take him.” 

“Why?” Cas’ heart raced in his chest. Jack, sent to South Dakota? Or Wisconsin? 

“You’re not the only one falling apart, Cas,” Dean said. His voice cracked. “I mean -- after, after you…I just, I wasn’t doing so hot. And Sam, I mean, he did what he could. He did what he could. But it came down to being around for Jack or keeping me alive.” 

“Dean,” Cas said. He didn’t know what else to say. 

“So yeah, there was talk. But you, you came back. You’re here. You’re safe. And so it’s, it’s not, it’s not okay, but it’s okay, because you’re back. And I -- I needed that, Cas, okay? I needed you to come back.”

“I’m back, Dean,” Cas said. His throat felt tight, like when he had an allergic reaction to a blackberry. 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Fuck, I’m gonna need a coolatta, too.” He laughed at that, at the absurdity, Cas supposed. Dean glanced at Cas again, letting his eyes linger a second longer. “So, what do you want to do about Jack?” He asked. 

“Move, I suppose,” Cas said. “Make a real home for him.” 

Dean swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “Sure. A house could be nice.” 

“I think so,” Cas said. “He deserves one.”

“Mm,” Dean hummed. 

“You do, too,” Cas said. 

Dean huffed a laugh. “Let’s start with finding a place for Jack, yeah?” 

“Alright,” Cas said. “Happily.” 

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” Cas said. 

Dean smiled, tight and watery. He pulled the car into the drive-thru, ordered two Coolattas and a strawberry-frosted donut, and pulled around, handing over a twenty-dollar bill. 

“Keep the change,” he said, taking the drinks and donut from the cashier. 

“That was generous,” Cas said. 

“We’ve all been there,” Dean said. “Minimum wage, maximum pain.” He pulled Baby into a parking spot, turning in the seat to better face Cas. There was tension in his cheeks, but it was bleeding out through his smile. 

He held up the drinks. “Okay, Cas, what we have here is something that, if consumed too quickly, could stop a horse’s heart. It will rock your world. You’ve got two options: vanilla bean and cotton candy. Don’t pick based on the name, neither will actually taste like that. These things are one-hundred percent artificial. Just go with your gut.” 

Cas reached out, taking the vanilla bean drink from Dean’s hand. 

“Good choice,” Dean mused. He passed Cas a straw, which Cas plunged through the whipped cream and into the drink. He took a sip. It was ice cold, tasting like pure sugar. He sucked hard through the straw, flooding his tongue with it. He swallowed at least three times before he even looked over at Dean. 

“Well?” Dean asked. “How’s the headache?” 

“Better,” Cas admitted. “This is delicious.” He took another big swallow. Dean laughed, rich and full. 

“I’m damn glad you’re back, Cas,” he said. “Damn glad.” 

“There are advantages to being alive,” Cas said. 

“Yeah, man, there sure are.” 

“Your cooking, for one. Jack. Mint leaves. Tattoos. Paula Abdul.” 

“I mean, those are the hits,” Dean said, eyes crinkling with laughter. “Just don’t forget about Led Zeppelin and internet porn.” 

“Of course not.” 

“Good man.” Dean smiled again. “You want to go home?” He asked. “Or, kinda-home, at least until you find a new one?”

“Yes, I’d like that very much,” Cas said. Dean took a big sip of his drink, reversing the car. A piece of ice clung to his lip, melting against the heat of his mouth. If long drives for sugary drinks brought joy to Dean’s face, Cas would never leave the passenger’s seat. 

“Ow,” Cas complained, head turned to the side, words muffled by the paper-covered pillow. 

“You’re the one who chose it, Cas,” Howard said. “Gotta say, I usually don’t do pieces people proclaim up-front are ugly.” 

“It’s not exactly a choice,” Cas said. The tattoo needle bit into the skin of his thigh, just below the line of his boxers. 

“What, you lose a bet? That why you’re hiding it?”

“No,” Cas said. “It’s a tradition. We all have one. But it is ugly.” 

“I won’t argue with that. Who’s ‘we’?” Howard continued shading. 

“Myself. Dean. Sam. Eileen. Our friends.”

“Your kids?” 

“Claire, yes. Jack’s too young.”

“Good man,” Howard said. He wiped the skin. Cas’ leg felt tender, like he’d been kicked with a steel-toed boot. 

“Jack wants to get a tattoo when he’s older. Matching, with me.” 

“That’s cool,” Howard said. “Nevaeh and I have stars behind our ears.” 

“I believe Dean’s suggestion was a cartoon cat.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause that’ll make this whole aesthetic come together.” Howard wiped the skin again, washing away the harsh black. “What’s the symbol mean, anyway?” 

“It’s a protection symbol.” 

“Cool. Well, cool idea, anyway. Not too big on the flames, myself.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

“At least you’re not the odd-man-out, though.”

“No, and I suppose it was time to finally protect myself.” 

“No shame in that. Hey, if you want, I’ve got some temporary tattoos you could bring home to the kid. They’re the water-transfer kind, shouldn’t be on him for more than a week or so.” 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” 

“Sure thing. See you next week?”

“Yes.”

“Man, you sure are racing through these.” 

“I don’t see a point in waiting.” 

“Then I’ll see you next week,” Howard said. “Back to the good stuff, right?”

“Yes,” Cas said. 

When he settled into the front seat, he could feel the pentagram on the back of his thigh ache.

Chapter Text

“Sitting like a champ, dude,” the artist said, pulling back from Castiel’s skin, dipping the needle back into the inkpot. “Ribs can be brutal.”

Castiel thought back to Sam and Dean, to the carving he’d done in theirs. Had that been brutal? Had he ignored their pain? His ribs ached. 

“I have a high pain tolerance,” Castiel said. 

“Yeah, everyone says that,” the artist said, “until the needle gets close to bone. You’re the real deal.” 

“I don’t think so,” Cas said. “Just good at getting through.” 

“Okay, dude,” the artist said. They were laughing. Cas was not making a joke. 

When the needle pressed into his ninth rib, a false rib, doctors would say, he did not flinch. 

Jack had been right; the hostas were thriving now. Cas had spent time with them every day, carefully checking their soil for root rot or invasive weeds, ensured their sun levels were right by moving two of them around the east side of the bunker for a dose of morning sun, and trimmed away any dead growth among their green leaves. 

“So good,” he said, speaking to them. “You look so wonderful.” 

His knees dug into the earth, cementing the brown-green stains on pants he’d bought specifically for gardening. He had gloves, too, thick and protective against any thorns or sharp branches. A baseball cap, proclaiming fidelity to the Denver Nuggets, kept the sun from his eyes. Sam said his love for the outfit was “almost like the trench coat.” 

Sam had also bought him an apron, thick cotton with plenty of pockets. It hung in the gardener’s shed, that front room of the bunker, where flecks of soil could drop from it without dirtying the house. Sometimes, when he got in from tending the garden, Dean would be passing through the kitchen. Cas would have his apron, stuffed with trowels and seed packets. Dean would have his, stained with flour and barbecue sauce. Their eyes would meet, Cas on the stairs, Dean in the doorframe, and they would smile. 

Dean was probably wearing his apron, too; Cas had left him to a pie crust when he went to check on the garden. Jack was nearby; Sam had installed a basketball hoop high on the side of the bunker and Cas could hear the ball bouncing, occasionally clattering against the side of the building. Sam was with him, teaching him how to shoot against taller defenders. Cas had watched them earlier; Sam’s arms starfished out from his body, waving to block Jack’s sight of the basket. Jack dribbled back, giving himself a wider angle, spinning around Sam’s side for a quick, but unguarded, two-point shot. 

“I’m going to be a professional basketball player,” Jack had announced. 

“Well, then I guess we better start practicing,” Sam had said. That was it. All that it took to take Jack from a sideline fan to an active player. He and Sam were now discussing how to enroll him in a Kansas youth league. They thought the 16-to-20-years division wouldn’t look too suspicious. 

Cas was lost in thought when Dean stepped outside, walking over toward the garden. Eileen had joined Cas in the sunshine, sitting in one of the lawn chairs and shifting a bottle of navy blue nail polish between her hands and feet. She was on her second coat of toe polish when Dean tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Dinner’s ready,” he signed. She gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded toward Cas. “He ok?”

“He’s good,” Eileen signed. “But I think he’s talking to the plants.”

“So he cracked,” Dean signed, eyes crinkling. 

“Like you never talk to your meatloaf,” Eileen signed, rolling her eyes. 

“I was singing with the music,” Dean signed. He gave his wrist an extra flourish, bringing his hand up his forearm and under his chin. “Fuck you.” 

Eileen winked. “You forget I can read lips,” she signed. “I don’t think there’s any song that goes ‘have a good nap in the oven.’” 

Dean frowned. “How would you know? You can’t hear,” he countered. He mouthed the words as he signed them, mouth sliding into a saccharine grin. 

Eileen leaned up and pecked his cheek. Dean jolted back, surprised. Eileen smiled, tongue caught between her teeth. 

“Eileen!” Dean signed. “What would Sam think?”

“Sam’s not intimidated by you,” Eileen signed, leaning back in the chair. She laughed, nose scrunching. 

“Did you just kiss my girlfriend?” Sam called, walking around the side of the house. Jack trailed after him, basketball tucked under his arm. At the garden, Cas jumped, sucked out of his thoughts by the noise. 

“She kissed me!” Dean said, holding up his hands as Sam stomped over. 

“Oh,” Sam said, stance relaxing. “Whatever.” 

Dean’s head swiveled between them. “What do you mean ‘whatever’?” 

“I’m not intimidated by you,” Sam said. “Is dinner ready?” 

“Yes, it’s ready. Sammy, what the hell? Am I just your chef?”

“At this point, kinda,” Sam said. “We heard the door.”

“And Eileen!” Dean said, turning to her. “Am I just one of many men you’ve chewed up and spit out?” 

“You’re not worth the effort,” she signed, smiling again. 

“The humans in this family need to get their heads on straight. I’m defecting,” Dean said. 

“What, you and Jack are going to secede?” Sam asked. 

“What’s ‘secede’ mean?” Jack asked. 

“And what is Cas in all this? Chop liver?” Dean asked. 

“Technically,” Cas said, wiping the last of the dirt from his jeans. “Sam’s right. I’m ‘team human’ now.” He walked over to the group. “‘Secede’ means to formally leave.” 

Jack nodded solemnly. 

“I didn’t --” Dean started. Cas put a hand on his shoulder. He stopped talking. 

“It’s fine, Dean,” he said. Dean quirked a smile, nodded. Cas dropped his hand. A fleck of soil stayed on Dean’s shirt. Cas stared at it. 

“Well,” Jack said. “If dinner’s ready, I’m going to secede to the kitchen.” He walked away, tugging open the front door. 

“Take a shower first!” Cas called after him. 

“I gotta shower, too,” Sam said. “I’ll see you guys inside.” He headed out, following Jack inside. Eileen picked up her nail polish bottle, blowing Dean and Cas a kiss. The door shut behind them. 

“Gardening going well?” Dean asked, hands shoved in his pockets. 

“Very well,” Cas said. “The plants are thriving.” 

“That’s cool,” Dean said. “Any mint you could spare?”

“Of course,” Cas said. He walked over to the mint plants, bending low. Dean shuffled up behind him. “How much do you need?”

“Just a few leaves,” Dean said. “Can’t have a mojito without mint.” 

“Make mine a virgin, too?” Cas asked, snipping the leaves. Dean chuckled. Cas glared at him over his shoulder. 

“Hey, no judgin’,” Dean said. “You know, I heard Arizona’s nice this time of year. We could drive down, check out the desert. I heard it goes well with dry spells.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “I’m not a blushing virgin, Dean.” 

“Yeah, and you haven’t gotten any since, what, April? Dude, you’re gay . I know I said not every hookup’s a winner but if you’re not hooking up at all you’re definitely losing out.”

“Am I now?”

“Hell yeah. Problem one: nephilim. Solution: you wouldn’t be sleeping with a uterus, anyway.”

“Men can have uteruses.” 

“Okay, solution two: you’re basically firing blanks.”

“I’m plenty fertile.”

Dean’s mouth twisted. “Okay, Cas, there’s this thing called an overshare.”

“You brought it up.”

“...Just don’t use ‘fertile’, alright? Sounds like you’re talking about your ficus.” Dean snorted, then wrinkled his nose. “Whatever. Point is, no grace, no cash prize for your heavenly head on a stake.” 

“Don’t be crass,” Cas said. “What’s the other problem?”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘problem one.’”

“Okay, you don’t have to air-quote me on it. Problem two is being too shy to get some.” 

“I’m not afraid of meeting men.”

“Oh? Coulda fooled me, buddy. When’s the last time you even went to a bar?”

“Eileen took me last week, remember?”

“Dude, that was at like, eleven a.m., and it’s just because you two like to get sloshed on mimosas. I mean a bar . Late night, good outfit, falling asleep in someone else’s bed…” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m just saying, if I don’t get to see all your cool tattoos someone else should get to.” Something flashed across his eyes the second the words were out of his mouth. A reflection of the evening sun, maybe. 

“I didn’t tattoo myself for vanity,” Cas said. He crossed his arms, aware of the sweatshirt that pulled across his left forearm, material flirting with the skin of his ribs, jeans clinging to his thighs. 

“I know, I know.” Dean held up a hand in surrender. “I’m just saying, if I looked like you, I’d be hitting the bars every night.” 

“You’re a very handsome man, Dean,” Cas said. Dean flushed. The hot sun must be getting to him. 

“Thanks, Cas,” he said. His voice had quieted. Cas longed for its vibrancy, the rich fullness of it that would carry down the halls of the bunker, across the lawn of the backyard. 

“I’d be happy to accompany you on a night out,” Cas said. “If you’re looking for a partner.” 

“Huh?” Dean said, eyes narrowing. “Oh. Uh, I mean, guess I better get back out there, yeah? Not like there’s much for me around here.” His smile stopped short of his eyes. 

Cas’ stomach clenched. No, he supposed, there wasn’t . Nothing Dean wanted, at least. “I suppose not,” he said. The words tasted sour. He needed something to cleanse his palate. “You said dinner was ready?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, exhaling harshly. “It’s a chicken pot pie.” 

“Sounds delicious,” Cas said. “I’m famished.” 

“I made a double batch,” Dean said. “So feel free to go nuts.” 

“That would be a pecan pie,” Cas said. Dean laughed at that, wide and open and gorgeous in the sun. 

“Okay, Betty Crocker,” he said. “Then you can’t make a fowl.” 

Cas slept two full nights. He did not sleep the third. Eileen and Sam had bid everyone goodnight at ten, Dean went to bed at eleven. Jack stayed up with him. The clock ticked past midnight. 

“Happy Friday!” Jack said, looking at the clock. 

“Happy Friday, Jack,” Cas said. He shuffled playing cards once, twice. He cut the deck in half, sliding one pile over to Jack. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Jack said. They each took a card off the top, flipping them face up. Cas’ eight of clubs against Jack’s nine of hearts. Jack swept both cards off to his side of the kitchen table. They flipped cards again: Cas’ queen of hearts against Jack’s two of spades. Cas set the cards beside his elbow. 

“I was thinking, Jack,” Cas said, flipping a card, “that we could go out for a bit today.” 

“Yeah?” Jack asked, taking the cards. “Where are we going?” 

“Well,” Cas said, “I was thinking we could look at houses.” 

“Oh, fun!” Jack said, flipping a card. “I love looking at houses. Eileen showed me this show, it’s all about these tiny houses people live in that are the size of the war room and the library, that’s it, and they put storage everywhere and sometimes have guest bedrooms and some of them are even on wheels, so they just drive their house around wherever they want to live.” 

“I was thinking we could look at houses for us,” Cas clarified. He flipped a card. Three of spades against three of diamonds. He dealt another card face down, then flipped one. Jack of hearts. 

“For us?” Jack asked. “You want to move?” 

“I don’t want you to have to grow up here,” Cas said. “This is a war house. A headquarters. It’s not a home.” 

“But...Dean and Sam and Eileen live here,” Jack said. “Would they come?”

“Sam and Eileen are forging their own path,” Cas said. “They might stay here. They might get a home of their own.” 

“So, Dean would come?” 

Cas bit his lip. “I don’t think so, Jack. I think Dean wants to make his own way, too.” 

“But Dean loves you,” Jack said. “And he likes me now. Why would he want to leave?”

“We can love people and let them go,” Cas said. “If we love them enough, we’ll want them to be free.” 

“Oh,” Jack said. “That sounds sad.”

“It can be,” Cas admitted. “Many beautiful things are.” 

“My mom left me,” Jack said. “She left for me. Because she loved me?” The boy’s brow was drawn in, confused. 

“Oh, Jack,” Cas said, reaching across the table to take his son’s hand. “Your mom loved you, loves you, very much. More than words could ever say. She talked about you all the time.” 

“She did?” 

“Oh yes. She read you books, there was one, a book of poems, that every time she read made you kick. If I put my hand on her stomach I could feel you, growing bigger and stronger, pushing up against my hand.”

“Do you remember it?” Jack asked. 

Cas squeezed his hand. “I can find it,” he said. He dug out his phone, searching quickly. “Yes, this is it,” he said. He looked at Jack. “Close your eyes,” he said. 

“Why?” Jack asked, but he closed them. 

“It won’t work, otherwise,” Cas said. “Poems are magic. Here we go: 

There is a place where the sidewalk ends / And before the street begins, / And there the grass grows soft and white, / And there the sun burns crimson bright, / And there the moon-bird rests from his flight / To cool in the peppermint wind. 

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black / And the dark street winds and bends. / Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow / We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, / And watch where the chalk-white arrows go / To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, / And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go, / For the children, they mark, and the children, they know, / The place where the sidewalk ends.” 

Jack’s foot tapped Cas’ shin under the table. The boy opened his eyes. Cas smiled. 

“I like that,” Jack said. “Is that where we’re going?” 

“The place where the sidewalk ends?” Cas asked. 

“I guess,” Jack said. “Just...a happy place.” 

“I’d like that,” Cas said. “Would you?”

“I think so,” Jack said. “As long as we can still see everyone.”

“Of course, Jack,” Cas said. 

“Then yes, let’s look at houses,” Jack said. He placed a card down, flipped another. Ace of diamonds. “Is that high or low?” He asked. 

“Let’s say high,” Cas said. Jack took the cards. “I was thinking we could go after my tattoo appointment.”

“Okay!” Jack said. “Can I come to that?”

“You may,” Cas said. “But you may want to bring a book. It should take a few hours, and Howard, my artist, has to focus.” 

“Okay,” Jack said. 

They played cards until two a.m., when Jack finally called it quits. Cas promised to wake him by ten so that they could get to Cas’ appointment. He read for a few hours. He drank chamomile tea. He read the tea box, searching for the caffeine dose. His heart raced. 

At four a.m. Cas walked past the door. He avoided it most days, or tried to. It was shut, welded that way apparently, and spray-painted with every rune and sigil Eileen could find in the hours after Cas collapsed onto the floor behind it. He walked past it, turned, walked up to it. He placed his hand on the knob, cool under his palm. He twisted his wrist. The door didn’t budge. He pressed on it, tried to summon the strength he used to have, strength that would’ve ripped through the soldered metal and splintered the wood into a million shavings. It did not budge. His grace was gone, splintered into the million pieces instead. 

“You’ll torture yourself messing with that,” Dean said. Cas’ head snapped up. Dean leaned against the hallway, tugging on his robe. His AC/DC shirt and pajama pants, a plaid pair in a rich green, were wrinkled. He’s just gotten out of bed, Cas thought. 

“You’re up early,” Cas remarked. 

“You’re up late,” Dean countered. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” Cas said. 

“Nightmares?”

“No.”

“Then it’s just good-old-fashioned insomnia,” Dean said. “Welcome to the party.”

Cas looked around. “I don’t see any streamers.”

Dean’s eyes crinkled. “Yeah, well, it’s a shitty party.”

“I didn’t say that,” Cas said. He ran a hand over his face. 

“That a Jack original?” Dean asked. 

Cas turned his wrist, looking at the back of his hand. A UFO was stamped onto it, tattooed on by Jack earlier with some warm water. 

“Indeed,” Cas said. They’d done it in the bathroom. Jack’s bathroom. Had Cas not crashed through the bunker wall, had Dean not pulled him out, his bathroom might’ve been in Garth’s house. Or Jody’s. 

“Come on, dude,” Dean said, motioning with his hand. “You can’t stand in front of a locked door all night.” Cas followed him out of the hallway, down toward Dean’s room. They stopped in front of it. Dean opened the door, leaving it wide as he entered. 

Cas stood in the hall, gazing in. Dean’s bed was made, even though it was the middle of the night. The beer bottles that used to line the back shelf behind his bed were gone, though they hadn’t been there since before Cas died. Dean opened up the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a small tub. He looked up, eyes softening at Cas still in the hallway. 

“Come on,” he said. “I got something to show ya.” 

Cas stepped inside. He pointed at the door. Dean nodded. He closed it. 

Dean typically commanded rooms, walking through them with assurance and purpose, leaving evidence of his control in his wake. He imbued himself into every corner, flashlight or gun barrel sweeping across every nook and cranny. He filled the space, soul expanding to sink into each crevice.

That night, in the boarded-up room, Cas felt Dean all around him, filling his lungs and stomach. He cried, making room for Dean in his tear ducts, drawing Dean into the chambers of his heat. The walls, barren though they were, seemed stained with his spirit. 

This room, though, Dean’s room, was not suffocated by his spirit. Cas could not see his soul, but he knew it did not cling like a child to each corner of the room. Dean was not all-consuming here; he was relaxed. He was at ease. These were his things, placed to his choosing. He had the same gentleness in the kitchen. In the front seat of his car. 

The hesitation with which he approached Cas, then, scared him. Dean was not supposed to worry. Dean was supposed to relax. He held the tub out toward Castiel. 

“There’s, uh, a farmer’s market two towns over,” Dean said. “I drove past when I was at that grocery store, the one with the grape leaves Jack likes so much? Yeah, that one. And uh, I thought you might like to go, so I stopped by, and uh, got you a gift.” He shook the tub. Cas took it. “Saw you put your car keys out. Figure that means you’re going back, so, maybe this’ll make it hurt less after.” 

The tub was shea and mango butter, advertised as an ‘Ink Drink: For Post-Tattoo Care’. Cas smiled at it. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said, cracking the tub open. The cream looked luxurious, the label handmade. “I’d love to go to the farmer’s market with you.” 

“It’s, uh, it’s no problem,” Dean said. “Just some small thing.”

“Perhaps,” Cas said. “I’ve learned the small things make the most difference.” 

“Yeah?” Dean asked. He yawned. 

Cas tapped the tub with his finger. “You should get some rest,” he said. “I don’t mean to keep you.” 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Dean admitted. “And I could tell you the same thing.”

“Well, try then,” Cas said. He once sent Dean into an instant sleep with a touch to his forehead. He once was awake at four a.m. of his own volition. He frowned, turning toward the door. 

“Hey,” Dean said. Cas looked up at him. His hands were shoved into his pockets, strong arms sheathed by soft fabric. “I walk past it sometimes, too, you know.” 

Cas smiled, weak and watery. “Yes, well,” he said, “we have mastered the art of torturing ourselves.”

“You’re damn right about that.” 

Cas inclined his head. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.” 

Cas slipped out of Dean’s room, softly shutting the door behind him. He did not sleep. 

Cas heard Jack’s greeting from the parking lot. He heard Howard insist on an eighteen-year-old shop standard, eyeing the boy suspiciously. He heard the bell on the door ring when he pulled it open. 

“Just a second, son,” Howard said. He nodded to Cas, “Be right with you, Cas.”

“With us, actually,” Cas said, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “This is Jack.”

“Oh!” Howard said, “Well then. Nice to meet you, Jack. Your dad has told me all about you. Most of it’s good, but…” he trailed off. Jack’s face fell slightly. Howard smirked. “I’ll have you converted to the Knicks by the end of the day.”

“The Knicks?” Jack asked. He turned to Cas. “Maybe I should wait in the car.”

Howard laughed. “Come on, you two,” he said. “Let’s get going.” 

Cas sat down in his usual seat, unbuttoning his flannel. Howard took out his toolkit, new needles and gloves ready to go. Jack sat down on a stool, pushing himself over so he could see the process. 

“Your dad says you’re interested in tattoos,” Howard said, pulling out sanitizing wipes. 

“Yes!” Jack said. “They’re so pretty. I really like the ones with color.” 

“Oh yeah?” Howard said. “Well, we’re just doing some black work today, but we might have some color on the books.” 

Jack looked over at Cas, who winked at him. Cas pulled his arm out of his left sleeve, his chest open to the air. 

“Dad and I are going to get matching ones,” Jack said. “We’re already practicing.” He pulled up his sleeve, revealing an alien head on his wrist. Cas held up his hand, showing off the UFO. 

“Very nice,” Howard said. “Though I don’t do hands or necks unless you’re already well-covered.” He wiped down Cas’ chest.

“We’ve got time,” Jack said. “I’m not old enough yet.” 

“No, you’re not,” Howard said. “But your dad is.” He handed Cas the iPad. “Take a look.”

Cas unlocked the iPad, tilting it so Jack could also see the design. 

“Cool!” Jack said. “And you’re getting it on your chest?”

“Right over my heart,” Cas said. Howard tapped the spot with his finger, stretching the skin out with a gloved hand to run a razor against it. 

“Does it hurt?” Jack asked. 

“A bit,” Cas said. “Some bits hurt more than others. This bit --” he enlarged the photo on the shading, “--always hurts a bit more than linework. But it’s more uncomfortable than painful.”

“And then you get to keep the art,” Jack said. 

“Exactly,” Cas agreed. 

“Okay,” Howard said, setting down the razor. “I printed out two sizes of the stencil. Which one do you like more?” He held them both up to Cas’ chest. 

“What do you think, Jack?” Cas asked. 

“I like the smaller one,” Jack said. “For right above your heart.” 

“Then I think we’ll do the smaller one,” Cas said. 

“Alright,” Howard agreed. He peeled the backing off the stencil, laying it against Cas’ skin. 

At noon, Jack ventured down the strip mall, coming back with takeout containers of Chinese. At one, Howard took a ten-minute break, switching out some equipment for the finishing touches. At two, Cas paid for the tattoo, setting up his next appointment for two weeks out, the first of a three-session piece, by Howard’s guess. At two-fifteen, he and Jack settled into the car. 

“It’s so cool,” Jack said, looking at the photo he took of Cas’ tattoo. 

“I want to say thank you,” Cas said, “but Howard did all the work.”

“He’s so nice!” Jack said. “Even if he doesn’t like the Nuggets.” 

“He is,” Cas agreed. “And he’s been helping me.”

“He has?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Jack, I don’t just get these tattoos because I like them. I do, but I also like what they mean. What they help me remember, or help me to dream about. We --” he took a deep breath, “--we didn’t get much choice. The angels. We simply were. I was told to be a soldier, so I led an army. I lived for many, many years, doing things without question. Staying within the lines.”

“And then you fell,” Jack said. 

“For the first time,” Cas corrected. “I don’t regret falling. I gained so much from it. But I lost a lot, too. I don’t want to forget that. And I want to honor it. The bad, that is. It has always given way to the good.” 

“Like Dean,” Jack said. 

“Like you,” Cas said. “Dean, too. Sam. Eileen. Our family. Remember what I said about beautiful things?” 

“They can hurt,” Jack said.   

“They can,” Cas said. 

“I think penguins are beautiful,” Jack said. “But I guess it would hurt if one bit me.”

Cas stared at his son. Perhaps the sky wasn’t so cloudy. Perhaps food could be savored. Perhaps. “You know, Jack?” He said, “I suppose it would.” 

“And THIS house isn’t even a house, the lady called it a condo, but it’s really skinny and has three floors so I would have the top one all to myself!” Jack said, clicking through the listing photos. Sam and Eileen sat on either side of him, looking at the webpage. Cas brewed a mug of tea. 

“This looks really nice, Jack,” Sam said. “Was this one your favorite?”

“No,” Jack said, “I liked this one the most.” He typed in an address. The listing was for a small house, three bedrooms, two baths, one and a half stories. “It’s right by a lake, so we could go swimming and fishing and maybe even get a kayak.” 

“Wow,” Eileen signed. “Very fancy.” 

Sam pulled the laptop closer to him, clicking through the listing. “What’s the city?”

“Webber,” Cas said. “In the Lovewell neighborhood.” 

“That would be close enough for you to still play in the North Central league, Jack.” 

“Awesome!” Jack said. 

“And it’s a straight shot down I-36. Easy access.”

“You liked it, too?” Eileen asked. 

Cas smiled, digging his tea bag out of his mug. “I did,” he said. “It was welcoming.” 

“Did you make an offer?” Sam asked. 

“Not yet, but I’m meeting the current owner again next week to talk about the deed. They’re not using a Realtor, which is excellent for keeping us under-the-radar.” 

“Works for me,” Sam said. 

“Hey-o!” Dean said, thumping down the stairs, grocery bags in-hand. “Hey!” He said, spotting Cas and Jack. “How’re you two doing?” 

Cas shot Jack a quick look. Jack kept his mouth shut. “We’re good,” he said, taking one of the bags from Dean. “How was the store?”

“Man, you would not believe the rush on rotisserie chicken. I have never had to throw so many elbows to get a bird. Worth it though,” Dean said, unpacking one of the bags, “because tomorrow night is pulled-rotisserie sliders. Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘I’ve had pulled pork, and that was already the best food can get’, but you’re wrong, because this bad boy combines all the sweet-savouriness you get from pulled pork with the smokiness of a rotisserie chicken. Strap your socks to your feet, ladies and gents, because this will knock them off.” 

“Wow,” Sam said. “Big sell.” 

“Sammy, don’t act like it’s not one of your top ten dishes,” Dean said, waving a hand. “Now move, I’ve gotta get this guy shredded and marinating so that tomorrow we can feast.” 

“Cool,” Jack said. “What about dinner tonight, though?” 

“I like how you think, kid,” Dean said, unloading produce into the fridge. “But we gotta start small so the big moment really hits you where it hurts.” He glanced at Cas, eyes quick, nervous. “I, uh, thought tonight might just be something simple. Cas and I are gonna go out.” 

“Oh are you?” Sam asked, as Eileen’s eyebrows shot up, Cas said, “We are?” and Jack asked, “Can I come?” 

“Huh?” Dean said, fronwing. “No, Jack, you cannot, because we’re going to a bar. Been too long since the boys got out on the town, alright? So yeah, we’re going out, and don’t wait up, because we might not end up back here, if you know what I mean. Not both of us, at least.” He winked. 

“Oh,” Sam said. “Uh, well, okay then.” 

“I didn’t know we were going out,” Cas said. 

“Yeah, man,” Dean said, flashing him a smile. “We talked about it. No time like the present. So why not?” 

“Alright,” Cas agreed. “If you say so.”

“I definitely do,” Dean said. “And the sooner we get out there, the sooner we get to talking, to meeting, to mixing. So take a shower and put on something that’s…not that.” 

Cas looked down at his outfit, the button-up he wore to his tattoo appointment and the soft pants he’d changed into once he and Jack had gotten home. 

“If you say so,” he repeated. He turned away. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked Dean. He didn’t hear Dean’s response. 

Showering was more difficult with a bandage on his chest. Cas didn’t want to wrinkle the second skin, or lift an edge of it from its adhesion. The bandage was off of his thigh, at least. He didn’t have to be reminded of the awful design etched into his leg each time his hand passed over the skin. 

He toweled off his body in his bedroom, careful of the still-healing skin of his arm and leg, before grabbing his bottle of lotion. Tattoos peeled and scabbed, and keeping the skin hydrated kept the ink in its proper place. He pumped the top of the bottle once, hand freezing before he brought it to his arm. He rubbed the lotion into his hands, instead. 

The tub of Ink Drink was on the bedside table. He uncapped it, breathing in the clean scent. The lotion wasn’t fragranced or colored, just pure. He dug some up with his finger, smearing it onto the tattoos on his forearm. His skin soaked it in, relaxing against the dry air of his room. He wondered if the air in the house would be as dry. It couldn’t be, not with the windows, and the humidity from the lake. 

He perfunctorily rubbed another quarter-sized amount into his leg. The cream wasn’t as thick as his usual lotion, drying quicker. It was nice. It was nice to be thought of. 

Castiel dressed in clothes he thought Dean would pick for him; a black sweatshirt, cut close enough that he wasn’t swimming in fabric, and black jeans. It wasn’t the most exciting outfit, but it didn’t disguise the shape of his thighs or the thickness of his waist. It didn’t show his chest, either, half-shaved and stuccoed with Saniderm. 

Dean knocked on his bedroom door, his traditional, two-knuckle double-tap. “Hey, you ready?” He asked, voice muffled by the wood. Cas opened the door. Dean had changed, dressed now in slim blue jeans and a dark blue tee shirt, purple flannel layered over top. “Wow, Cas,” Dean said, “looking good.”

“I do?” Cas asked. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

“No, man, you, uh, you look great,” Dean said. “Yeah, so, uh, we should go.” Dean led him out of his room, up the stairs, and into the car. Jack said goodbye when they walked through the library, but Dean didn’t speak otherwise. Cas settled into the Impala’s passenger seat. Dean started the car. 

“So,” he said, breaking the silence as he pulled into the driveway. “I, uh, thought we could go to this place. I found it on Yelp. It’s not, like, a gay bar, but it’s not just the dive bar in town that might not...I don’t know, if you don’t like it, we’ll find somewhere else, but I thought --” he cut himself off, looking over at Cas. The streetlights reflected off his cheekbones. He’d continued filling out in the past weeks. He looked like himself. Vibrant. Perhaps the glow was coming from within. 

“I’m sure it’s fine, Dean,” Cas said. “And you’ll be alright?”

“Me? Why, uh, why wouldn't I be alright?”

“We’re going to a bar. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “Naw, man, I mean, the only difference between a Jack and Coke and plain Coke is what’s on the inside. I’ll be fine.” 

“Alright,” Cas said. “I won’t be drinking, either, if it helps. Alcohol thins blood.” He tapped his chest, at the edge of his bandage. Dean’s eyes followed the movement.

“Chest tat, eh?” Dean asked. “What, you matching with me? Got a little pentagram under there?”

“No, that’s on the back of my thigh,” Cas said. 

“Wait,” Dean said, eyes shifting between Cas and the road. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Cas said. “That’s where it’s tattooed.”

“Why?” Dean asked. 

“I’m human now, Dean. I have to protect myself. With more than my ‘angel blade,’” Cas said. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “One: shut up, that’s one of the funniest things you’ve ever said. Two: it’s only funny because you didn’t get herpes. Three: yeah, Cas, I know you’re human. And four: I’m not asking why you got it, I’m asking why you put it on the back of your thigh.” The light reflected differently on him now. It added a red hue to his neck and ears. 

“Oh, that’s simple,” Cas said. “It’s ugly.” 

Dean sputtered. “What?” He asked. “You think it’s ugly?” 

“Yes, it’s a very reductive symbol. There are flames around it, Dean. It’s not attractive, and it doesn’t go well with any of my other tattoos.”

“So, what, you thought you’d hide it on your ass?”

“It’s on my thigh.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Essentially. I don’t want to see it. It’s there for function, not appreciation.”

“Wow, Cas. Tell us how you really feel.”

“I just did.”

“It’s a figure of speech.” Dean’s head ducks a bit, eyes still raised to the road. “Just warn a guy before you take your pants off, alright? That kinda thing could be jarring.”

“I don’t plan on taking my pants off at the bar.”

“No, dude, when you -- when you chat up a guy and go home with him.” 

“I plan on going home with you.” 

Dean sputtered again. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Cas. I mean, we’re out here because you’re not getting laid, and I’m not getting laid, and the world isn’t ending anymore. So I might not be coming back to the bunker tonight.” His hands gripped the steering wheel. He was wearing rings again, Cas noticed. 

“Then I wish you luck in finding a partner,” Cas said. “You deserve that.” 

“Yeah, well, we all deserve a lot of things,” Dean said. He pulled into the parking lot. The bar looked like any other; dark wood, low lighting. A small pride sticker was stuck in the front window. Cas smiled. Dean was trying. Cas could try. 

“I can, uh, ‘talk you up,’” Cas offered.

“You can what?” Dean asked, parking the car. 

“I know it’s customary to support someone when they’re trying to seduce a partner. I can help you.” 

Dean chuckled. “Yeah? I don’t know, man. No offense, but you’ve got a particular way with words.”

“I don’t appreciate the implication,” Cas said. 

“I said ‘no offense’!” 

“Then don’t say something offensive.”

“Whatever,” Dean said, stepping out. “You want to wing-man me? Go for it.” 

Cas trailed behind him, following him into the bar. It was moderately crowded, enough that conversation created a white-noise rumble, but not enough to keep them from walking straight up to the bar. 

“A Coke,” Dean ordered, “and a soda water with lime. Splash of cranberry juice if you’ve got it.” 

The bartender nodded. Dean leaned against the bar, body turned toward the crowd. He nudged Cas. 

“So,” he said. “See anyone you like?” 

Cas scanned the crowd. Some people were obviously paired off, sitting close to each other, bodies touching. Some seemed content by themselves. 

“How about him?” Dean asked, nodding toward a man sitting with a group. He met Cas’ eye when Cas looked over, flashing a smile.

“He has nice teeth,” Cas said. “He’s attractive enough.” 

Dean frowned. 

“What?”

“Nothing, just --” the bartender returned with their drinks. Dean took a sip of his Coke. “--doesn’t sound like he really revved your engine,” he continued.  

“I suppose not,” Cas said. The low light in the bar deepened Dean’s freckles. His hair was longer, too, falling gently onto his forehead. 

“Okay, then who’s doing it for you?” 

Cas watched Dean take another drink. He licked his lips, tongue passing to catch the last drop of soda. It was pure sugar in that glass, like the drink Dean bought him after his panic attack. Cas knew he would like the taste.

“Come on, Cas, spit it out,” Dean said. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Cas said. 

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Cas, you know -- I’m not, I’m not trying to be weird about this, alright? I know I usually go for ladies, but this...this doesn’t have to be weird. I know you’re gay. It’s cool.” 

Cas hummed noncommittally. Could he be honest? Dean knew he loved him, but did he know how debilitating that love was? How Cas couldn’t imagine someone else’s hand in his? Someone else in his home? Dean’s gaze passed over a woman walking with her friends.

“I’m just not interested in dating,” Cas said, resigned. “It doesn't matter to whom I’m attracted.”

“Come on, dude, not at all?” Dean knocked him again with his elbow. Cas’ eyes narrowed. 

“What would you have me do, Dean? Bring someone new into our lives? Jack’s life? Our home? I’m not interested.” 

“Okay, geez,” Dean said, shifting away. Cas missed the heat of his arm. “I just thought, you know, since I’m -- and we -- then maybe there’d be someone else you had your eye on.”

“No,” Cas said. “No one else.” 

Dean swallowed. Cas gulped half of his soda water. The cranberry juice coated his tongue. A hand tapped his shoulder. He turned.

“Hey, there, guys,” Howard said, grinning. “Fancy seeing you out here.” 

“Oh, hello, Howard,” Cas said, smiling bright. “How are you?” 

“I’m good,” Howard said. He reached across Cas, hand extended. “Dean, right? Good to see you, brother,” he said. 

Dean’s eyes flickered with recognition. “You too,” he said, shaking Howard’s hand. “Been a while.” 

“Few weeks,” Howard said. “Been seeing a lot of Cas here, though.” He pointed at Cas’ glass. “That better not be vodka.” 

“It’s not,” Cas said. “I wouldn’t ruin your work like that.” 

“I know you wouldn’t,” Howard said. “You’re nice like that. I see where Jack gets it.” He leaned in toward Dean. “He’s a good kid you got yourselves, there.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah Jack’s great. All Cas though. He deserves the credit.”

“That’s not true, Dean,” Cas said. “Jack is, in spite of all of us, wonderful.” 

“I know how you feel,” Howard said. “Pretty sure my girls are made of magic. God knows I’m not smart enough to teach them to be so great.” 

“That’s not true, either,” Cas said. “You’re a great man.” 

Howard laughed. “And you’re ridiculously earnest for being sober.” He took a swig of his beer. “Listen, I gotta get back to my wife, but it was nice seeing you two. I’ll see you next week, Cas. Can’t wait to hear about house-hunting.” 

When Howard walked away, he took the warm air with him. Cas’ heat beat right behind his ribs. 

“Cas?” Dean said, voice hollow. “What -- did he say house hunting?” 

“Yes,” Cas said, looking at Dean. The bar lights didn’t warm his cheeks the way they did before. They didn’t thread gold into his green eyes. 

“I didn’t, uh, realize you were serious about that,” Dean said. “You hadn’t mentioned it since that day, in the car.”

“I know,” Cas said. “But I talked to Jack. He agreed that we should move.” 

“Oh,” Dean said. “So, what, you’re going to find a bunch of listings? Go to open houses?”

“We found a house,” Cas said. “It’s not ours, yet, but we can afford it. Jack likes it.”

“So you’re…” Dean trailed off. “You’re really leaving?”

“I will be,” Cas said. “We’ll probably be moving in a few weeks.” 

“That’s soon,” Dean said. 

“It’s for the best,” Cas said. “We can all move on, then.” 

Whatever light had danced across Dean’s face had dimmed. His mouth hung open, his eyelids drooped. 

“Fuck, Cas,” he said. “Why the fuck would you do that?” 

Cas didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t understand the question. “Dean, I --” he said. Dean held up a hand.

“Cas, I don’t think I should be here anymore,” he said. 

“Okay,” Cas said, still confused. “Do you want to go?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. His jaw clenched. “I really want to go.” 

“Okay,” Cas said. He reached for Dean. Dean jerked back, elbow hitting his glass of Coke. It spilled backward, sloshing over the bar. 

“Fuck!” He said. Some of the bar patrons looked over. Cas stepped closer to Dean, blocking them from seeing him. Dean pushed past him, hand pressing firm over the bandage on Cas’ chest. Pressing right over Cas’ heart. He ducked his head and walked out of the bar. 

Cas walked after him, quick steps trying to catch up. “Dean!” He called. Dean didn’t turn around. He unlocked the car, slid in, and slammed the door shut. It creaked under the force. Jack had gotten in trouble last week for being too rough with the Impala. It made the same sound then. 

Cas slid into the passenger’s seat, easing the door shut. “Dean,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, voice catching. His head was tilted up, eyes on the Impala’s roof, but tears still slid down his cheeks. “Fuck, Cas, what isn’t wrong? I get you back and I lose you right after. And now you’re leaving.” 

“I’m not leaving, Dean,” Cas said. “I’m just moving.”

“Isn’t that the same fucking thing?” Dean asked. He shook his head. “Listen, I’m not trying...I’m not trying to hold you back, man. Okay? I get it. I’m fucked up. You are too, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You once told me you’d rather have me, cursed or not,” Cas remembered. 

“And I fucking meant it, didn’t I?” Dean said. “Maybe I’m just too banged up. I get it, okay? Why you -- I get it.” He ran a hand over his face. His rings came back sparkling, wet from his cheeks. 

“I want you to live a long and happy life, Dean,” Cas said. “You can’t do that if I’m around.” 

“Yeah, who says?” 

“Dean,” Cas said. “You’ve always upended your life for others. You lost Lisa because of me. You lost your mother. You lost Sam . I can’t ask you to give up your future, too.” 

“Whatever,” Dean said. His eyes slid over to Cas, landing on his shirt. “Fuck,” Dean said. “I fucking, I pushed you. I didn’t mean to -- I’m sorry, Cas. Probably fucked up your tattoo now, too.” 

“You didn’t,” Cas said. He reached his arm out, placed it on Dean’s shoulder. Dean didn’t pull away. “A single shove won’t ‘fuck it up.’ You can’t hurt me. It’s alright, Dean.” 

Dean nodded. He put the car in drive. 

Cas leaned back in his seat. His heart still pounded. His ears were ringing. Dean needed him. He could let the fear, the panic, crest later. 

It crested just after midnight. Cas woke with a start, head throbbing, skin sweaty. He sat up, pushing the covers toward the foot of his bed. It had been right behind him, almost licking at his skin. If he’d lost his footing, rocked back even an inch, the tar would’ve stuck to his skin. Sucked him back in. 

He panted, ripping off his tee shirt and throwing the damp fabric across the room. The cold air soothed his skin. He ran a hand through his hair. 

When he felt more grounded he slipped out of bed, tugging on his robe. There was tea in the kitchen, some hibiscus blend Sam had bought. He shuffled out of his room, approaching the body of the bunker. There was noise in the kitchen. Talking. 

“Did you eat dinner?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean said. 

“What did you have?”

“Sandwich.”

“Dean.”

“What, Sammy?”

“Is it getting bad again?”

“No.”

“Dean.”

“It’s not. Fuck off, Sam, you’re not in charge of me.”

“No, Dean. I care about you. It’s different.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Cas cares about you.”

“What the fuck?”

“Dean, listen. I don’t know how to help you, okay? Some days I barely know how to help myself. I get nightmares too, you know. I wake up and I think Eileen’s gone, or she’s dead, again . Or I cut myself shaving and space out staring at the drop of blood. We’re doing our best to heal. You gotta help me do my best for you.”

“I’m not worth the trouble, Sammy.”

“So, what, you’re going to throw the last months away? Wish Cas back into the Empty?”

“What the fuck , Sam?”

“You pulled this shit when he was dead. He’s not. He’s asleep down the hall because you got him out. We got him out. And the house, and the tattoos...he’s trying to heal, too. So you’re not allowed to give up, okay? Just fucking try.” 

Cas waited. Neither brother spoke for a while. Then Dean’s voice, tight and small, carried down the hall.

“He’s leaving, Sam. He’s taking Jack.”

“So ask to go with him.”

“He doesn’t want that.”

“You won’t know until you try. You have to fucking try.” Sam sounded close to tears. 

“I’ll try.”

“Good. I’m getting you an apple. Then I’m going to bed.” 

“Sam -- I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be like this.”

“I’m cool with who I am, Dean, scars and all. Got ‘em doing what I had to do. Now it’s your turn.” 

Cas heard the water run. Heard Dean take a bite of the apple. Heard Sam clap him on the shoulder. He retreated back to his room.

Chapter Text

“You need a break?” The artist asked, glancing at Castiel’s face. It was twisted into a frown. 

“Oh, no,” Castiel said. “I’m not upset about the pain.”

“Something on your mind?” The artist asked. 

“Many things. None of which I’ll burden you with.”

“Okay, dude,” the artist said. “Just saying, some people treat this like therapy.”

“That would be unfair to you, but thank you.”

“Sure thing, man. Just let me know if you need a break.” The artist kept working, kept tattooing, kept pressing. The ink filled the pores of Castiel’s skin. He needed a break. 

“When’s moving day?” Howard asked, running the razor over Cas’ shoulder blade. 

“On Saturday,” Cas said, eyes fluttering closed. His head was cushioned by a paper-covered pillow, cheek turned so he could face Howard. 

“Coming up, then,” Howard said, sliding the razor down his ribs. “You excited?”

“I am,” Cas said. “It’s necessary.”

“Wow,” Howard said. “Very dramatic.”

“You’ve met me,” Cas said. “I’m sure by now I don’t come as a surprise.”

“That you don’t,” Howard said. “Just be careful when you’re moving, alright? Don’t want to put too much strain on the outline.”

“You’ve met me, Howard,” Cas repeated. 

“I know, I know,” Howard said. “Listen, I don’t mean to insult, because I know we’re about the same age, but you’re kinda like my little brother, alright? You’re, like, one of the only guys who has ever asked me for parenting advice. Let me look out for you a little, okay?”

Cas twitched a smile. “Okay,” he said. 

“Good. Now let’s get this outline laid down.” 

“Do you still anticipate three sessions?”

“Yeah, I think so. The outline we can finish today, but then shading will take some time. That plan still okay with you? You’ve got about fifteen seconds to change your mind before the needle drops.”

“No, it’s fine. Just planning. I may have to move our third session to the daytime.”

“What, another hot date with Dean?”

“Jack’s first basketball game,” Cas said. His heart squeezed. 

“Oh, wow!” Howard said. “Good for him. He playing in the youth league?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “They were able to squeeze him in. Since we’re new to the area, and all.”

“Cool,” Howard said. “You know, Alexis plays in the girls one. Might see you around.”

“You might,” Cas said. “I’ll be at all the games.”

“That’s the way to do it, Cas,” Howard said, touching the needle down to the stencil. “Presence and patience.”

“You seem to have it all figured out,” Cas said. 

“Not in the slightest,” Howard said. “I got that phrase from my wife.”

“Then she has it all figured out,” Cas said. The hum of the motor was rocking him to sleep, welcome respite after another insomniac night. 

“No, she doesn’t either,” Howard laughed. “Neither of us even knows the half of it. But if I figure out forty percent, and she figures out forty percent, then that leaves our girls just enough wiggle room to make mistakes.”

“Mm,” Cas hummed. “I see.”

“What, you falling asleep on me?” Howard laughed. “Man, this is why you need someone to look out for you. What’s Dean been doing all these days?” He laughed again. Cas didn’t. 

“Dean and I aren’t like that,” Cas said, quiet. The words sank into the paper pillowcase. Howard frowned. 

“No?” He said. “Sorry, didn’t mean to assume. Just...first time I met him he was puffed up like a peacock ready to throw himself in the line of fire if I even so much as looked at you wrong. Then at the bar, you two took off pretty quick. I know he’s part of the bee dream. Just...sorry, Cas. It’s my mistake.”

“Mine too,” Cas said. “I do want him with me, always. But he’s forging his own path.”

“So it’s just you and Jack moving, then?”

“Yes. I think it will be good for us. Jack deserves a proper home.” 

“Then I’m happy for you.”

Cas yawned. Howard pulled back, letting Cas’ lungs shift and fill away from the needle. 

“You’re really gonna fall asleep on me,” he mused. “Alright. Then I’m putting music in. Tap me if you need a break.” 

“Goodnight,” Cas said, letting the fatigue overtake him. The needle in his skin didn’t bother him half as much as the ache in his heart. 

Cas stuck the last stake in the garden, a small sign that read “beefsteak tomatoes.” 

“I’ll miss you,” he said, rubbing the plant’s leaves between his fingers. “Grow well for Sam and Eileen, alright?” 

“Talking to the plants?” Eileen asked. Cas turned to her, backlit by the evening sun. 

“You know I do,” he signed. She smiled at him. 

“I can’t promise I’ll keep this alive,” she said. “You sure you’re not taking it?”

“It would be difficult to move this much soil,” Cas signed. “When the roots are so deep. It’s strange -- before, I had nothing but time. Now I have a home to manage. I just can’t spare it.” 

“Hey,” Eileen said, tapping Cas’ shoulder, bringing his gaze to her. “You’ve done well. Jack is really excited to move.” 

“I’m just afraid that, once the novelty wears off, he’ll miss being around everyone.”

“Then you come back.” Eileen shrugged. “Sell the house and move back here. No shame in trying, no shame in deciding you thought something would work and it didn’t.” 

“You’re very kind,” Cas signed. “I don’t want to step on your and Sam’s toes, though. Or Dean’s.” 

“Who said Sam and I would still be here?” Eileen joked. Cas’ stomach flipped. He and Jack were leaving. Sam and Eileen would likely move, someday. Dean would live in the bunker, in a place built to house whole armies, alone. He swallowed bile. 

“Someone needs to hold down the fort,” he said. “It’s not Dean.” 

“I’m not what?” Dean asked, walking over to the pair. Eileen’s eyes flicked up to him.

“Ready to confess your love,” she said. Dean froze. Cas’ stomach dropped. “I know you’re trying to steal me away from Sam.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “Right.” A smile flickered across his face, tight and painful. “Um, I was going to get dinner started,” he said, looking at Cas. “Is now okay?”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas said. “I just finished preparing the garden.” Cas stood, wiping his hands on his apron. He’d hang it for the last time in the garden room tonight. 

“What are we eating?” Eileen signed. 

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Dean said. “Another staple.” 

“I apologize, Eileen,” Cas signed. “I know you’re used to Dean’s expert cooking, but I’m still learning, so it’s only the basics.” 

“It’s alright,” Eileen signed. “You’re still leagues beyond me.”

“Hey, I can teach you next,” Dean signed. “I’ll have the time,” he added. 

Cas plastered a smile across his face. “I’m ready,” he said, walking past Dean and into the bunker. He tosses his apron in the garden room, marching into the kitchen and washing his hands at the sink. Sam sat at the kitchen table. 

“Hey, I, uh, loaded the last of Jack’s bags into your car,” he said. 

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas said, drying his hands. Dean rounded the corner of the kitchen, heading straight to the refrigerator and pulling out two packages of ground beef. He dropped them onto the prep counter. 

“I’ll, uh, get out of your way. Let me know when dinner’s ready,” Sam said, quickly stepping out. 

Dean continued unloading ingredients. “Four-hundred,” he said. Cas leaned over the oven, setting the preheat. The oven beeped. “Chop up half the onion,” Dean said, nodding toward the white onion on the counter. 

Cas took out a cutting board, setting the onion onto it. He took a knife, slicing it through the onion’s edge. He peeled off the outer layer, setting it aside. He steadied his knife again. 

“Cas,” Dean said, eyes on his cutting. “No, man, you’re gonna --” he stepped forward. Cas stepped to the side. “--you’re gonna hurt yourself if you hold it like that,” Dean said. He curled the fingers of his left hand in, showing Cas the flats of his knuckle. “Gotta protect your fingers.”

Cas curled his fingers in. He set them on the onion, holding it down. 

“Yeah, and then, don’t put your finger on the edge of the knife,” Dean said. “Fingers on one side, thumb on the other. All in the wrist,” he said, miming a slicing motion. 

Cas moved his fingers, raising the knife and slicing it cleanly through the onion. The rings fell away. 

“Yeah, there you go,” Dean said. Cas sliced through another cut. Dean watched him, watched his hands take apart the vegetable. Cas’ eyes flickered up to him. Dean’s eyes were glassy. The onion was making him cry. 

“I understand now, thank you, Dean,” Cas said. 

“Oh, uh, sure,” Dean said, backing up and away from the onion’s chemicals. Cas smiled softly at him. He smiled back. “I’m going to get started on the mixture, then,” he said. 

He took out a large bowl, holding up one of the packages of ground beef. “The great thing about meatballs,” he said, “is you can’t really screw them up. Easy to make, no big machines needed. Just dump, roll, and bake. They freeze well, too. Jack would like making them.”

“I just need to keep him away from the raw egg and meat,” Cas said. 

“Meat more than egg,” Dean said. “Cookie dough never killed anybody.”

“Dean,” Cas chided. “I’m not risking Jack’s health over some cookie dough.”

Dean chuckled. “Then don’t ask him about what he and I got up to last night.”

“Dean,” Cas said. “Really? He’ll expect this of me, you know.”

“You’re his dad, Cas,” Dean said. “Making cookies is your whole job.”

“I suppose there are worse fates,” Cas said. Dean had dumped both packages of beef into the bowl and cracked two eggs over it all. He shoved his hand in, mixing it up with his fingers. “That’s horrifying,” Cas said. 

“Says the man who once ate raw meat off the floor,” Dean said. 

“I was under famine’s control,” Cas said. 

“What do you think I’m under now?” Dean joked. “Come on, I’m hungry. Faster this is in the oven the faster we’re eating fine Italian fare.”

“I think the Italians might take issue with that,” Cas said, eyeing the box of spaghetti they’d gotten from the supermarket. 

“Yeah, well, they’re not here,” Dean said. He smiled, genuine and warm. It suited him well, filling out a frame that had looked skinnier in the past days. Stress, Cas supposed, from the move, and perhaps poor sleep. 

“Are you getting enough rest?” Cas asked, using the knife to slide the diced onion into Dean’s mixing bowl. 

“You worried about me?” Dean asked. 

“Always,” Cas said. 

Dean’s upper lip jumped, like he wanted to scoff. He swallowed. “Cover a cookie sheet in tin foil,” he said. 

“Okay,” Cas said. “Answer my question.” 

Now Dean scoffed. “Cas, I’ve never gotten enough rest in my life,” he said. “Sure, I get more than four hours now, but...I’m fine, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Cas said. “You’ll tell me if you’re getting bad again?”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to him. Not hard, not exactly, but guarded. Cas held his gaze, looking for a glimpse of his bright soul behind his eyes. Dean swallowed. He turned away. 

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll let you know.” 

“That’s all I ask,” Cas said. He held up the baking tray. “Now what?” 

Dean smirked, tension melting away. “Now you watch the master,” he said. 

Dean was, indeed, a wonderful cook. Cas watched him glide around the kitchen, sure-footed and steady-handed as he added pepper, breadcrumbs, garlic, bay leaves, and a dash of different seasonings to the mixture. He grated parmesan in, too, mixing everything up again. He balled up the meatballs, rolling them in his hands and placing them on the sheet Cas prepared. The oven beeped. Dean paid it no mind. Only once the meatballs were lined up in neat rows did Dean spin, popping them into the hot oven. 

“Now onto the pasta,” Dean said. 

“I feel more confident about that,” Cas said. “The instructions are on the box.” 

“Then show me what you’ve got,” Dean said, washing his hands. He swapped places with Cas, leaning against the refrigerator door as Cas filled a pot with water, dumped in enough salt “to make it taste like the ocean,” per Dean’s comment, and set it to boil. 

“Good,” Dean said, taking a swig of his ginger ale. “Sauce time.” He pushed himself off the refrigerator door. Cas held up a hand. 

“You taught me this when we made chicken parmesan,” he said. “I remember.”

“Well, by all means, Cas, lead the way,” Dean said, smile soft. 

Cas remembered the recipe, how Dean cracked open the can of tomatoes, how he crushed them in the pot. He remembered the spices, the nutmeg and bay leaves, the garam masala. Spicy and sweet, Dean had said. Not too much, not too little. But enough to keep your tongue interested. 

“Well done,” Dean said, when Cas had the pasta cooking and the sauce simmering. “Let me have a taste.” He moved toward the burners. Cas dipped a spoon into the sauce, holding it up for Dean. Dean stopped just short of it, hand dancing between them. Cas watched him, watched his tongue dart out to lick his lips, watched his cheeks flush as the hot burners warmed them. Dean opened his mouth, hand frozen by his chest. Cas placed the spoon between his lips. 

The moment the silver touched his skin Dean jumped back, as if burned, like Garth or Bess would be. His hand closed around the handle, skimming past Cas’ as Cas let go. But his eyes closed. His lips worked. He swallowed. 

“It’s, uh, it’s damn good, Cas,” he said, face red. “You remembered.” 

“I told you I would,” Cas said. “You’ve taken the time to teach me to cook. It would be an insult to forget your lessons.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean said, wiggling the spoon in his hand. “Glad someone’s paying attention.” He huffed a laugh. 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said. The sauce gurgled, spitting tomato on the front of Cas’ shirt. Dean’s face broke into a smile. 

“The hazards of being the chef,” he said. “Gonna have to get an apron, man.” 

“Being human requires so many outfits,” Cas mused, stirring the sauce back down to a simmer. Beside him, Dean broke out into joyful laughter. 

Castiel slept that night; the combination of pre-moving stress, sleeplessness earlier in the week, and staying up watching television with Dean until even Jack had gone to bed kept him well under until his alarm blared. 

When it rang out into the quiet bedroom his arm instinctively reached out, slapping down on the snooze button. He lowered his head back onto his pillow, ready to sink under for another five minutes of precious, uneventful rest. There was a knock at his bedroom door. 

“Hey, Cas?” Sam asked, cracking the door so his voice wouldn’t be muffled. “Heard your alarm. Ready for the big day?”

Cas rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to elevate his healing tattoo. “Good morning, Sam,” he said. “I suppose I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Have you seen Jack this morning?”

Sam opened the door more fully, stepping just inside of Cas’ room. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s in the kitchen. Dean’s making him an omelette.” 

“That’s good,” Cas mused. “He never showed me how to make those.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s looking for excuses to come over on weekends,” Sam said. 

“He doesn't need them,” Cas said. “Dean’s welcome any time.”

“Have you told him that?” Sam asked. “Because from my vantage point, this is him sending you off to the war front.” 

“Dean needs time to heal,” Cas said. “Away from me.”

“I would say the same thing about myself.” Sam looked at Cas. Just enough light streamed in from the hallway for them to see each other’s faces; see each other’s pained expressions. “You’re good for him, Cas,” Sam added. “I don’t know what you’ve got into your head but...you’re good for him.” 

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas said. “I will always be his friend. You don’t have to worry about that.” 

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He pushed up from the wall. “Yeah, well,” he said, “I guess breakfast is ready. And then we’ll hit the road.” 

“Alright,” Cas said. Sam left, shutting the door behind him. Cas stared at the crack of light that seeped through the door frame. Tomorrow, he would wake up in this bed, but not this room. Not this door frame. He would wake up to light coming in from the window. 

He swung his legs out of bed, pulling his robe on as he opened the door again, padding down the hallway. He was the last one awake, apparently; Sam had rejoined Eileen at the kitchen table, morning crossword showing on the laptop between them, Jack sat cross-legged on the prep counter, omelette on a plate balanced between his knees. Dean wiped down the skillet, egg carton still open by his elbow. 

“Good morning,” Cas said. Eileen waved at him. Jack, too. Dean’s eyes jumped up from the burner. 

“Hey, Cas,” he said.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said. “Did you sleep well? We were up late.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said. “Couldn’t just let you sit there quietly, waiting for the hours to tick by.”

“It was excellent company,” Cas said. 

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself,” Dean said. He winked at Cas. “You want eggs?” 

“Sure,” Cas said. “Thank you.”

“How many?” Dean asked, cracking the first one into the pan.

“Oh, three,” Cas said. 

“What, are you doing some kind of hunger strike?” Dean asked. Cas felt his eyes soften. 

“I can have a snack later, if I get hungry again,” Cas said.

“Your loss,” Dean said. “You get up to five and I add another type of cheese in. Just for kicks.”

“You’ll have to make it for me some other time,” Cas said. He smiled at Dean. Dean smiled back. 

“What time are we leaving to go to the new house?” Jack asked. 

Dean’s face fell again. “Uh, whenever we’re done here,” he said. “Once your dad eats and we all shower, we’ll head out.”

“Okay!” Jack said. “I’m going to get ready, then. Thanks for breakfast, Dean!” He hopped off the counter, putting his plate and fork in the sink. 

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Dean said, watching Jack skip out of the kitchen. “Kid seems excited,” he said.

“He’s ready for this step,” Cas said. 

“Are you?” Dean asked. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas said. He felt tired again, unwilling to move his body to a seat, his eyes up to Dean. The sound of Dean’s spatula against the pan filled the kitchen. 

“Well, you better be hungry,” Dean said. “Order’s up.” He passed a plate over to Cas, perfectly rolled omelette in the middle. 

“What about you?” Cas asked. 

“Me?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“I already had some fried eggs.” Cas met his eye. “Scout’s honor. Gotta fuel up for a day as big as this one.” His smile implied he was joking. His eyes just looked sad. 

“Alright,” Cas said. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Anytime, Cas,” Dean said. 

They headed out fewer than two hours later. Cas loaded the last bags into his backseat, Eileen and Sam strapped furniture into the truck bed. Eventually, Cas planned to get new furnishings, but the bunker had more than enough to spare. Jack was waiting in the front seat of Cas’ car, leg bouncing. Sam and Eileen took off, heading toward the house, trailer pulled behind them. Dean followed them in the Impala. 

“Ready?” Cas asked, sliding into the front seat. 

“Yes!” Jack said. “I’m so excited. Sam said he would install another basketball hoop, and Eileen said she’d help me paint my room whatever color I want, and Dean put the rest of the cookies we made in the car, and he said we could keep them as a housewarming gift.”

Cas smiled. “Well, I suppose we better drive over then,” he said. “Do you want to say goodbye to the bunker?” 

Jack leaned forward in his seat, looking the concrete structure up and down. 

“No,” he said. “I know I’ll be back sometime. Sam already moved a new bed into my old room.”

“Okay,” Cas said. “Then off we go.” 

They pulled into the driveway half an hour later. Sam and Dean were standing in it, unloading a kitchen table from the trailer. Cas’ front door was open, Eileen’s spare key stuck in the handle. 

“Hey, guys,” Sam called. “Welcome home!” 

Cas stepped out of the car, looking up at the house. It looked bigger without all the previous owner’s furniture inside. Empty. Cas would fix that. 

“Thanks!” Jack said. “I’m going to go check out my room!” He peeled off, racing up the front steps and inside. 

“Go after him,” Dean said. “We’ll get the furniture going. Eileen’s sweeping.”

“Thank you,” Cas said. He walked up the steps, crossing the threshold for the first time. Empty though it was, the house was still welcoming. It was his. His son’s. Sunlight streamed in through windows without curtains. The hardwood floors creaked under his feet. Eileen glanced up at him, broom in hand. 

“Hey!” She said. “Still like it?”

“I love it,” Cas signed. “Thank you for sweeping.”

She waived him off. “What’s family for?” 

“Hey, where do you want this?” Dean asked. He held a dining chair up. 

“Oh, um, over here,” Cas said, pointing. 

“Is there a rug going under it?” Dean asked. 

“No, just the chair.”

“Okay, uh, we’ll get some of those felt pads at the hardware store then. Don’t want you scraping up your new floors.”

“They’re not new, Dean, you can see the scratches on them.”

“Yeah, well, they’re new to you. Besides, no point in making them worse.” Dean shrugged. Sam walked in behind him, carrying another two chairs. 

“Here good?” Sam asked, placing them around the first. 

“Perfect,” Cas said. 

“Okay, we’ll be back with the table.” 

The rooms filled slowly; beds were hauled upstairs, couch cushions fitted back into the frame. Jack had taken to decorating his room immediately, unloading his clothes into his closet and framing a picture for his bedside table. 

“I think I want purple walls,” he said. “Or maybe blue. What do you think?” He asked. Cas stuck his head out of his own room, seeing Dean leaned against Jack’s doorway. 

“I mean, either’s a good choice,” Dean said. “You could do both, you know. Two walls purple, two walls blue. Or make one an accent wall.”

“Hmm,” Jack said. “Do you think it would look nice to have blue walls and a purple door?” Jack asked. 

“Sure, kid,” Dean said. “But ask you dad about the door thing.”

“I don’t care,” Cas called. “Whatever you want, Jack. It’s your door.”

“Cool!” Jack said. “Thanks, Dad!” 

“Give me a second, Jack,” Dean said. He walked across the hall, standing in Cas’ door, hands shoved in his pockets. “There’s, uh, there’s a cracked lightswitch plate in the kitchen,” Dean said. “And some, uh, some cracks in the molding. I can fix that for you,” he said. He looked around. Cas’ room wasn’t much yet, but it had a bed and a dresser. 

“That would be great, Dean, thank you,” Cas said. 

“Sure, man. And I can pick up some paint, too.”

“Hmm,” Cas said. “Paint for Jack’s room would be great, but I’m not sure yet what colors I want downstairs. I’d have to look.”

“You could come?” Dean asked. “I mean, all the furniture’s unloaded. Sam mentioned picking up dinner before they left. So, uh, if you’re not busy…”

“No, I’m not,” Cas said. “I’d be happy to go with you.”

“Alright,” Dean said. “Then, uh, I guess I’ll meet you in the car.”

“I’ll come out with you,” Cas said. Dean eyebrows twitched. He smiled nonetheless. 

“Cool,” he said. He started down the stairs. Cas stopped at Jack’s doorway. 

“Jack? Dean and I are heading to the hardware store. Do you need anything?” 

“Nope!” Jack said. “Have fun.” 

“Thank you, Jack,” Cas said. “We will.” 

It felt familiar, walking down the stairs, out to the Impala’s passenger seat. Dean slid in, started the engine. Cas inserted one of his mixtapes. Two classic, one modern, one pop. It started with Led Zeppelin. 

“House looks great,” Dean said. “Good bones.”

“I think so,” Cas said. “There’s still a lot to be done, but I’m optimistic.”

“‘S good, Cas,” Dean mumbled. “Glad you’re happy.” Cas’ stomach clenched. This was happiness, wasn’t it? The best he could hope for, at least? 

“Are you happy, Dean?” Cas asked. 

“Me?” Dean asked. “I’m uh, yeah, Cas, I’m happy.”

“You don’t sound too confident about it,” Cas said.

“Yeah, well...I’ll be happier when I get your faucet fixed. How about that?” Dean said. 

“You don’t have to do that, Dean,” Cas said. “It’s not your house.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. He swallowed. “What if I want to, Cas?”

“Do you? I don’t want you to feel like you have some...obligation.”

“I know.”

“You want to fix my sink anyway?”

“Yeah, man. Can’t have that thing dripping all the time. It’ll drive you nuts, and it’ll drive your water bill up the wall.”

“Then, please.”

“Okay. We’ll get some new pipes at the store, too.” 

“Okay.”

“And what about the ceiling lights?”

“The ceiling lights?”

“Yeah, dude, don’t tell me you actually like those nipple-looking covers.”

“I hadn’t noticed their similarity to a human breast.”

“Well, take a good look next time. Once you see it you can’t unsee it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Yeah, well, when you decide you hate ‘em, give me a call and we can swap them out.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said. The song switched over. Great White, soft and high before the beat would drop and the singer would compel you to “rock him”. 

“No problem, Cas,” Dean said. 

They arrived at the hardware store shortly after that. Dean immediately pulled a cart out of the corral, jerking his thumb toward the entrance.

“Come on, dude, time to make your house a home,” he said. He walked backward, pulling the cart with him, smiling at Cas. “Bet you never thought you’d end up with a fixer-upper in Kansas. Heaven’s got nothing on that.” He winked. The wind blew his hair around, pieces of it draping over the tip of his ear. He was beautiful. 

He was less beautiful hauling Cas up and down the aisles, creating a mountain of goods in their cart. 

“What about these?” Dean asked, holding up curtain rod caps. “These look like your kind of thing.” 

Cas frowned at them. They were ornate, with swirled, bronze patterns coating them. “They’re a bit tawdry, don’t you think?” 

“Dude, you love tawdry,” Dean said. Cas glared at him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dean said, “did I hurt your bumblebee door knocker’s feelings?” Cas’ brow furrowed further. 

“These will do fine,” Cas said, picking up a pair of plain caps. 

“If you say so,” Dean said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But get a bunch. You have sixteen windows. And then you’re telling me what color you want the kitchen to be.”

“There’s a sample of this beautiful yellow color,” Cas said, digging through the paint chips he had shoved in his pocket. “Governor’s Gold.” He held the chip out to Dean. 

“Dude,” Dean said, looking at the chip. “You’re painting your kitchen the color of your coat.”

“Unless I am mistaken, you’re painting,” Cas said. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I never should’ve offered to help out,” he said. But he smiled when he said it, and got three gallons of the paint before they checked out. 

“Okay, we’re out,” Sam said, helping Eileen to her feet. They had crashed in the living room that evening, tired, painted, and dusty from the move. Dean was reclined in a leather arm chair, a donation from the Dean Cave. Jack was prone on the couch, feet in Cas’ lap. “House looks good, you two, but we’re tired,” he said. Eileen had already half-fallen asleep on him. She yawned. A purple paint smear ran down the outside of her hand. 

“Thank you for your help,” Cas said. “We really couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“No problem, Cas,” Sam said. “Dean, you coming?” 

Dean’s eyes flickered up to Sam. He didn’t move. Sam motioned with his hand, urging him up and out the door. 

“You go ahead,” Dean said. “I’m gonna have a nightcap and then I’ll hit the road.” 

Eileen rolled her eyes. “Goodnight,” she signed, yawning again. Sam took her hand, said goodnight to everyone, and walked away. Cas heard their car start up a minute later, rumbling down the drive. 

“You two want anything to drink?” Dean asked. “I’m getting a soda.” 

“Can you bring me a tea?” Jack asked. Dean nodded.

“Peppermint or green?”

“Peppermint.”

“Gotcha. Cas? Anything?”

“No thank you,” Cas said. Dean pushed up out of his chair, padding past Cas and Jack to the kitchen. Cas heard the teapot fill a second later. 

“What do you think?” He asked Jack. Jack sat up. 

“About the house?”

“Yes.”

“It’s cozy,” Jack said. “Can I lie down on you?”

“Of course,” Cas said. Jack swiveled, sitting down so his head was in Cas’ lap instead. Cas ran his fingers through his son’s hair. “It is, isn’t it. Cozy.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “And my room is so much brighter. And it’s purple .” 

“I’m glad you like it,” Cas said. “There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

“That’s okay,” Jack said. “I can help with some of it. And Dean.” 

“Hm?” Dean asked, coming back in with a can of seltzer and a mug. 

“You can help us with the housework,” Jack said. Cas took the mug from Dean, setting it on the end table to steep. 

“Sure,” Dean said, sitting back in his chair. His chair, still. “Whatever you two need.” 

“I want new sheets,” Jack said. 

“That’s a pretty easy fix,” Dean said. “I can take you to Bed Bath & Beyond, how about that?”

“Okay!” Jack said. “Thanks, Dean.”

“I was thinking, Jack,” Dean said, taking a big swallow, “I know Sam put the basketball hoop up over the garage, but the blacktop’s pretty standard. Your dad would have to be okay with it, but I could paint the court lines on it for you.”

“Would you?” Jack asked, eyes wide and happy. “That would be great!”

“I mean, Cas has to say it’s okay,” Dean said. He winked at Jack. 

Something soft settled behind Cas’ ribs. “Are you conspiring against me?” Cas asked. 

“Never,” Dean said. But he winked again. 

His frame was relaxed in his chair, legs kicked up on the footrest, head leaned back against the cushion. He looked comfortable. He looked home. The softness soured. 

“It’s alright with me,” Cas said. Jack smiled up at him. 

“Can I have my tea now?” Jack asked. 

“Sure, Jack,” Cas said. The boy sat up, taking the mug from Cas. 

Dean twirled the soda can in his palm. “Guess I should be getting out of here,” he said. 

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Jack asked. 

“Sure, kid.”

“And the day after?”

“What’s the day after?”

“You always make macaroni on Mondays.”

Dean’s face slackened. His body stiffened. “I, uh, taught your dad how to do that.”

“You make it better,” Jack said. “Sorry, dad,” he said, glancing at Cas from the corner of his eye.

Cas smiled. “It’s alright, Jack. It’s true,” he said, turning back to Dean. 

“Seems like I’ll be around a lot, then,” Dean said, hand scratching at his hair. He exhales. It sounds like a laugh. 

“Whenever you want, Dean,” Cas said. 

“Okay. Uh, yeah. I guess I’ll just, uh, go then,” Dean said. “See you tomorrow.”

“You could stay the night,” Jack said. “If you promise to make French toast in the morning.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “I don’t, uh, want to step on you guys’ thing.”

“Whenever you want, Dean,” Cas repeated. He held Dean’s eyes. This house was Cas’ house, but it was Cas’ family’s, too. Dean should feel relaxed here. Dean should feel home. 

“Okay,” Dean said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Uh, guess I’m glad you got a spare bedroom.”

“Of course,” Cas said. “You need somewhere to sleep.” 

“Cool!” Jack said, bright and unaware. “I’m going to redecorate my room again. I think I want my bed up by the big window.”

“Goodnight, Jack,” Cas said, as Jack raced up the stairs. 

“Night, kiddo,” Dean said. Jack was already gone, bedroom door thumping shut. Dean sat back down in his chair. He ran his thumb around the lip of his soda can. Cas watched the movement, relaxing into the tight spirals Dean created, the rhythmic motion of his hands. 

“You don’t really want me cramping your style,” Dean said. “I can make an excuse. Get out of your hair.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Cas said. “Jack wants you here.”

“Mm,” Dean hummed.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Cas added. Dean looked up from the can. “I’m not sure it would feel...like home, without you. You were my first home, after all.” 

“Shoulda thought about that before you moved,” Dean muttered. 

“I did this for Jack,” Cas said. “For you. Not myself.”

“Right,” Dean said. “For me. Didn’t ask me what I wanted, though, did you?”

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas asked. He held Dean’s gaze, stared into the hard eyes that flickered between pain and sadness. Dean should not want this. Dean should want joy. 

“I want to stay, Cas,” Dean asked. “Here.”

“I told you, you can,” Cas said. He tilted his head. Why doesn't this make Dean happy? 

“Yeah, Cas. Tonight.” 

“Whenever you want, Dean.”

“You said that.”

“I mean it.”

“Really? You’re cool with me camping out in your spare room for two weeks?”

“I would be happy to make my home yours, Dean. But you don’t have to be beholden to me. I know your life...your life deserves to be lived. I don’t want to weigh you down.”

“You’re not a burden, Cas. You’re my friend.”

“That’s kind, Dean. You are my friend as well.”

Dean blushed. Cas saw it for what it was: discomfort. He backtracks.

“The angels...I suppose they were my family. But you are truly much more of a brother.” 

Dean stared at him a moment, then dropped his head into his hands. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” He stood, shaking his empty soda can. “I’m gonna head to bed. Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean trudged upstairs, his own bedroom door clicking shut not but a moment later. Cas looked around his living room, at the furniture Sam carried and the rug Eileen vacuumed and the curtains Dean hung and the picture frame Jack painted. His son was upstairs, staying up late in a room of his own. Dean was upstairs too. Brother, Cas had called him. It was untrue. Sam was Cas’ brother, a man on whom he could always rely, someone who knew him well and accepted him, flaws and all. Dean was more. Dean was always more. Cas felt tears well up in his eyes. He was tired. 

The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked up to his room. Both bedroom doors were closed. Cas closed his, too. He kicked off his jeans, changing into pajamas, letting the moonlight cast over his feet. He fell asleep in the loud quiet of the country, with the beetles and the wind and the birds just beyond his window. 

“This isn’t real,” Cas said. “This isn’t real. What have you done to me? Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. This isn’t real. I’m dead. What have you -- Dean? I’m dead. Don’t -- Dean didn’t -- I don’t -- I’m dead.”

He rolled over, face pressing into his pillow. “I’m dead,” he said. “This isn’t real. Don’t touch me.” 

Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. He groaned. 

“I’m -- don’t -- This isn’t real.” His leg jerked. “This isn’t real!” He cried, breathing into the sheets until he hyperventilated. 

A knock at his door. He did not answer. “I’m dead,” he said. “I’m dead, this isn’t real.” 

The door opened, Dean pushing inside and over to Cas. He grabbed Cas’ shoulder, rolling him over. Cas didn’t open his eyes. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said. “Cas. Hey, Cas. Cas, wake up. Wake up, you’re dreaming. Cas, it’s a nightmare, I need you to wake up.” 

Cas threw his head back onto his pillow, sobbing. Dean cupped the back of his head, kept it from hitting his headboard. 

“Cas, this is a nightmare,” Dean said. He crowded onto the bed, knees locking onto either side of Cas’ thighs, preventing him from thrashing. Cas cried. 

“This isn’t real,” he moaned. 

“It’s not,” Dean said. “It’s not real, it’s a dream. Cas, I’m here, okay? I’m here. This is real. Okay? We’re real.”

“Don’t touch me!” Cas yelled. Dean withdrew his hand. Cas’ eyes didn’t open. He pulled at his hair, tangling it and scratching at his scalp. 

Jack’s bedroom door flew open. The boy ran over to Dean and Cas, eyes glowing soft yellow in the night. 

“Dad?” Jack asked, skidding into Cas’ room. 

“He’s stuck in a nightmare,” Dean said. “Can you help him?” 

Jack reached out, taking one of Cas’ hands in his. His eyes flared bright yellow. 

“It’s not real,” Cas whined. His breath caught in his throat, thick and wet. 

“I -- I can’t,” Jack said. “I can’t. It’s not a dream,” he said. 

“I’m dead,” Cas groaned. 

“What do you mean?” Dean said, head snapping over to Jack, brow furrowed. 

“It’s a memory,” Jack said. “I can’t get inside a memory.” 

“A memory?” Dean asked. “How do we get him out of it?” 

Cas tossed again. Dean put a hand to his chest, kept him pressed down on the mattress. 

“He wakes up,” Jack said. “Eventually.” The boy’s lip wobbled. His face screwed up. 

“Hey,” Dean said, reaching out for Jack. He kept one hand firm on Cas’ sternum, the other coming up to cup the back of Jack’s head. “You don’t have to see this, Jack,” he said. “I’ll stay with him. If he gets worse I’ll get you, okay?” Beneath him, Cas descended into a series of tight, choking sobs. 

“Okay,” Jack said. His hand flexed, like he wanted to reach out and heal Cas. 

“Cas is strong,” Dean said. “He’ll be okay. It’s just a bad night.” He nodded, mostly to himself. Jack mimicked it. 

“I’ll get him some water,” Jack said. He stumbled out of the room, wiping at his eyes. 

Dean looked down at Cas. His eyes were still screwed shut, chest heaving with broken breaths. “You better wake the fuck up, Cas,” Dean said. “You’re scaring Jack. Fuck, you’re scaring me,” he said. Cas twitched, shoulders jerking.

“I’m dead,” Cas whined. 

“No, you aren’t,” Dean said. He grabbed Cas’ hand, locking the other behind his head again. Cas collapsed under his touch, muscles relaxing at once. “You’re not dead,” Dean said. “You’re home. You’re in your bedroom. We painted it earlier today. It’s freezing cold because we painted and it still smells like chemicals, which you hate, so you left a window cracked. I’m here, Cas. I’m real. I’m alive. Jack is here. He’s alive. You gotta wake up, man. You gotta fucking wake up.” 

Cas’ cries quieted to sniffles. He stopped twitching. He opened his eyes. 

“Dean?” He asked, voice raw from crying. 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said. “Hey, buddy. I’m here. You were having a nightmare.” 

“I was?” Cas asked. He looked down at his shirt, blotted with sweat. He looked back up at Dean, at the crease of his brows highlighted by the moonlight. At the freckles Cas could count from their faces being so close together. He shuffled in bed, centering his body, thighs rocking against Dean’s. 

Dean’s face darkened in the night. He dropped Cas’ head back onto his pillow, dropped his hand onto the sheet. He swung his leg over Cas’ thigh, landing on the bed next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Not your problem,” Dean said.  

“Dean --”

“Don’t, Cas.”

“Dean, I’m sorry I scared you.”

Dean hung his head. His shoulders shook. “Yeah, well, that’s not your problem either.”

“I don’t mean to worry you, Dean.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I don’t.”

“I know.”

Jack knocked on the door, getting both of their attention. “Dad?” He asked. “Are you okay?” He held a glass of water out. 

“I’m better, Jack, thank you,” Cas said. He took the water, drinking half of it in a few swallows. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wake you up.”

“It’s not your job to take care of me,” Cas said. “It’s my job to take care of you.”

“Then who takes care of you?” Jack asked. 

“I do,” Dean said. Cas turned to look at him. Dean didn’t look up from his lap. 

Jack frowned at Dean. He looked back at Cas. “Does he do a good job?” He whispered. From the way Dean flinched, Cas is sure he heard. 

“He does,” Cas said. He could still feel Dean’s fingers burning into his palm and the back of his neck. He could feel his weight next to him on the bed.

“Okay,” Jack said, wary. “Then I think you had better stay,” he said, looking at Dean. 

“As long as you two are willing to put up with me,” Dean said. Jack smiled at him, mouth continuing to pull back as he yawned. 

“Go to bed, Jack,” Cas said. “I’m alright. Dean will sit with me.” 

“Okay,” Jack said. “Goodnight, Dad. Night, Dean.” 

“Goodnight, Jack,” Cas said. Jack left, closing the door to Cas’ bedroom. Cas downed the last of his water. 

“Want another glass?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Cas said. “And you don’t have to stay up with me. Or stay here.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He shifted. 

“Unless you want to,” Cas said. Dean settled back into the mattress, one leg tucked up, the other stretched out. 

“I’m used to four hours, anyway,” Dean joked. Cas narrowed his eyes at him. 

“I don’t want to encourage your bad habits,” Cas said. 

“Too late,” Dean said. “You already let me show you The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly , like, three times.”

“Mm,” Cas hummed.

“Wait,” Dean said, “were you just indulging me?”

Cas looked at his hands, folded in his lap. 

“Cas,” Dean said.

“Yes?” Cas asked. 

“Do you have a crush on Clint Eastwood?” 

“No,” Cas said. 

“You’re such a liar,” Dean said. 

“The other man is handsome, though. The Lieutenant.” 

“What -- you mean Angel Eyes?” Dean asked. “Dude, that’s gotta be like, immoral or something.”

“What?”

“You like Angel Eyes? You? The angel? With the eyes?”

Cas rolled his eyes. 

“That’s exactly what I mean, Cas. The eyes.” Dean laughed. “I’ll show you Captain Apache sometime. He takes his shirt off in that one.” 

Cas felt blood rush to his cheeks. He pulled at his own shirt. “Dean, would you mind closing your eyes?” Cas asked. “I’d like to change into a fresh shirt.” 

“Oh,” Dean said. “Uh, no problem.” He closed his eyes. Cas climbed out of bed, shucking his sweaty henley before pulling out a thermal long-sleeve. “I, uh, I saw a bit,” Dean said. “When you, uh, when you were shaking, your shirt, uh, where the buttons are, it kinda pulled to the side. And I looked away, Cas. I know you don’t want me to see your tattoos. But I uh, I saw a line. Just one. But...I saw it.” 

Cas’ breathing picked up again. He clutched the hem of his shirt. Dean had seen? 

“Cas?” Dean asked. “Can I open my eyes? You don’t sound too good, man.” 

“Yes,” Cas said, mind running along the tracks of ink down his back, chest, and arm. 

Dean got out of the bed, walking over to Cas. He wrapped his hand around the back of Cas’ neck again. 

“Cas?” He asked. “You with me?”

Cas nodded.

“Just a line, Cas. Just one. I looked away. I promise.” Dean let go of his head. His hand dropped down in front of Cas. His index finger traced a single line of Cas’ chest, pulling away where Cas supposed the fabric of his shirt had covered the rest. Just a line. Dean didn’t see. 

Cas nodded. “Thank you, Dean.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Dean said. “‘S your body.” He turned away from Cas. 

“I should try to sleep,” Cas said, trying to break Dean from his embarrassment. 

“Okay,” Dean said. “You gonna be alright?”

“I hope,” Cas said. Dean nodded. 

“You can wake me if you panic,” Dean said. 

“And you, me,” Cas said. Dean nodded again. He shuffled over to Cas’ door, cracking it open. 

“Night, Cas,” he said.

“Sleep well, Dean,” Cas replied. Dean shut the door behind him. Cas wrapped his arms around himself, right palm over his heart, left palm around his waist. He breathed fresh paint in, exhaling into the unquiet silence of the night. 

Howard cut large sheets of Saniderm. Castiel was propped up on his chin, letting the ache in his back and side ground him. 

“One more to go then you should be done,” he said, pressing the sheets of second skin onto Castiel’s back. “You’ll have to tell me how Jack’s first game goes.”

“I will,” Cas said. “You’ll have to come over and see the house. We’ll have you for dinner.”

“I’d like that,” Howard said. “It’d be nice to see the kid again.”

“Feel free to bring Nevaeh and Alexis. Jack has an PlayStation and a basketball hoop. And while it’s a bit cold for swimming, they can kayak around the lake.”

“Sounds good to me, Cas,” Howard said. “I’ll bring my wife, too. You can finally meet Kim; she’s the personality out of the two of us.”

“I’d love to meet her,” Cas said. “She’ll get along with Dean.”

“Dean?” Howard asked. “He a part of dinner?”

Cas squirmed on the table. Howard pressed a hand between his shoulder blades, stilling him as he continued to wrap the tattoo. 

“He’s...he’s living with us.” 

“I thought he wasn’t part of the move.”

“He wasn’t. Isn’t. But, he’s been staying in our guest room.”

“‘Guest room’, eh? Or is it ‘Dean’s room’ now?”

“...I suppose it’s both.”

“You two patched things up, then?”

“We weren’t in a fight.”

“People never are, until the first punch.”

“Dean and I have fought many times. This is not a fight.”

“Alright, Cas, I believe you. I’m just saying, a little kindness, a little communication...it can go a long way. Keeps things from becoming a fight.” 

“Mm,” Cas hummed. “I’m sure you are right. I’m just not sure what I would say.”

“The truth?”

“I’ve told him that. He does not want to hear it.”

“Then that’s on him, Cas.”

“A great deal has been. I can spare him this. A little kindness, as you said.”

“Not if it comes at the expense of your happiness, Cas.”

“It would not be the first time.”

Howard sat back. “It’s not my place, Cas, but...doesn’t sound like what you two have got going is particularly healthy.” 

Cas sat up, pulling his tee shirt back on. Howard helped him get the sleeve around his shoulder. “Yes, well,” Cas said. “We are getting better.”

“Mhmm,” Howard said. “Well, I suppose that’s something,” he said. “Tell me how the kid’s game goes, yeah?”

“Of course,” Cas said. “Good luck to Alexis on her own.”

“And take care of yourself, Cas. Jack, too.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Cas said. 

Jack’s first basketball game was a loss, 55-46. Jack didn’t mind, though, coming off the court sweaty and smiling. He’d scored four points: one basket and two free-throws after another player had tripped him. Cas, Dean, Sam, and Eileen had sprung up in the bleachers, arms spread out in outrage, remembering the other player was only seventeen at the last second. Jack had popped right back to his feet, though, and effortlessly sunk both free-throws. Had Cas not watched him practicing in the driveway every morning and evening, he would’ve thought Jack had used his powers to help him along. 

“You’re Jack’s family,” a woman said, walking up to them after the game. The team was huddled with the coach in a corner, going over their performance. 

“Yes,” Cas said. 

“I’m Evan’s mom, Julie,” the woman said. She pointed to a boy with floppy, sweat-soaked bangs, seated on the floor. “It’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve seen you at dropoff,” she said, smiling at Cas. 

“Oh, yes,” Cas said. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Evan loves having Jack as a teammate,” Julie said. “No one on the team is mean, but Evan reports Jack is one of the nicest.”

“I’m very lucky to have him as a son,” Cas said. 

“Is your wife around?” Julie asked. “I’d love to meet her, too.”

“My wife?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah, I saw you sitting with her earlier. Did she leave?”

“Oh,” Cas said. “I don’t have a wife. Eileen is family. She’s with the other man, the tall one.” 

“Oh,” Julie said. “My bad.” Her eyes darted around, looking for someone else who might claim Cas. Dean walked over to them.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “Ice cream after this? Sam said he’s paying.”

“Sure, Dean,” Cas said. “I’m sure Jack would like that.” 

“Hi,” Julie said. 

“Oh, uh, hi,” Dean said. 

“I’m Julie.”

“Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Evan’s mom”

“Oh, gotcha.” 

“Jack played well today.”

“Kid’s a rockstar, what can I say? Takes after his Dad.” Dean winked, elbowing Cas. Julie smiled. 

“Well, you must be doing something right,” she said. In the corner, the basketball team called out a ‘BREAK!’ and split up, players chatting with one another or meeting up with their families. 

“Dad!” Jack called, racing over. “Did you see my basket?” 

“I sure did, Jack,” Cas said, bringing the boy into a hug. Jack’s hair smelled like sweat. Cas’ heart swelled. It smelled human. Alive. 

“Jack,” Dean said. “Sam’s taking us all out for ice cream for a game well-played. You in?” He held up his hand. Jack high-fived it.

“Yes!” 

“Cool. We’ll be over in a second. He and Eileen are out by the lobby.” 

“Awesome!” Jack said. He dumped his bag into Cas’ outstretched hand, slide-on sandals flapping against the gymnasium floor as he bounded over to Sam and Eileen. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Cas said. 

“You too,” Julie said. “I should’ve known Jack’s dads would be as nice as him.” 

Cas saw Dean stiffen next to him. The easy stance he’d walked over with went rigid, his heel stopped bouncing on the floor. Cas nodded at her, a smile pulling painfully across his lips. He pulled at Dean’s elbow. 

Dean moved robotically, falling into step just behind Cas. Cas tried to tamp down the beating of his heart. Julie couldn’t have known Dean and Cas weren’t together. She saw two men interacting with a child and she assumed Jack was their son. How many others at the game thought the same? Was that alright? Was Dean embarrassed? Was he upset? Did Cas say something? Move in a certain way? Imply to anyone that Dean was his, that Dean wasn’t free, that he had some claim over Dean? Was his love a public burden that Dean had to bear? 

Cas strode through the lobby, pushing out the doors to the community center and stopping next to the Impala. 

“Cas?” Dean asked, grabbing Cas’ hand. Cas pulled it away. Dean didn’t need anyone else thinking they were more-than. “Cas!” Dean said again, grabbing Cas’ elbow this time. He pulled him around, making Cas face him. There was a time when Cas allowed this. There was a time when he could’ve stopped it. He could do neither, now; Dean moved him easily, using his body weight against Cas’, making Cas look him in the eye. 

Dean said something. Cas saw his mouth move, saw his brow furrow. He felt Dean’s hand grab his shoulder. He felt Jack grab his hand. 

“Dad?” Jack asked. The boy’s eyes flashed golden for a second. The pounding in Cas’ head retreated. “Oh, okay,” Jack said, releasing Cas’ hand. “I thought you might be having a panic attack.” 

“He wasn’t?” Dean asked. 

“No, his blood sugar was low,” Jack said. “I have the granola bar you packed me in my bag,” Jack said, leaning in toward Cas like it was a secret. 

“Thank you, Jack,” Cas said. “I think I’ll be alright.”

“You should eat something, Cas,” Dean said. His hand still rested on Cas’ shoulder. “Don’t want you fainting on me.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Cas said. “We’re getting ice cream in a few minutes.” He pushed Dean’s arm off, climbing into the Impala’s backseat. Jack furrowed his brow. 

He felt better after the ice cream, but still didn’t feel well. They dropped Eileen and Sam off at the bunker, driving back home to the sound of Cas’ mixtape and Jack’s retelling of each play of the game. Two classic, one modern, one pop. 

“Hit the showers, kid, then I’ll make dinner,” Dean said. “Meatloaf or tortellini, it’s your choice.” 

“I’m going to take a nap,” Cas said, crawling out of the car. His whole body sagged as he stood. The house looking back at him did not look like much of a home. 

“Can I talk to you, Dean?” Jack asked. 

“Sure, kid,” Dean said. “What’s up?” 

Cas didn’t hear the rest. He climbed the porch steps Dean nailed down two days before, climbed the runner-covered stairs to his bedroom, and rolled onto his bed, toeing off his shoes just before his feet hit the sheets. 

His eyes had just fluttered shut when he heard the shouts.

“Jack, please!” Dean said. Jack’s feet hit heavy on the stairs, climbing. 

“No, Dean.”

Cas’ head rolled over on the pillow. Jack stood at the top of the stairs, yelling down at Dean.

“I’m not trying -- I don’t want to get rid of you, okay?” Dean’s voice was tight. 

“You did before!”

“I know, okay! I’m an asshole! That’s not news! But I was wrong.”

“You never apologized.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so fucking sorry. You have to know that!” 

“You should go,” Jack said. Cas staggered upright, head swimming again. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, reaching for Jack. Jack wrapped his arms around Cas. 

“I don’t want to go,” Jack cried. 

“What?” Cas asked. He looked down the stairwell. Dean sat at the base, eyes wide and confused. 

“I don’t!” Jack insisted. 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Cas said. 

“Please don’t make me go,” Jack said. 

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Dean said. “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

“What did you say to him?” Cas asked, hands tensing around Jack’s shoulders. 

Dean opened his mouth. Jack cut him off, saying, “No!” His voice was muffled by Cas’ sweater. “You’ll only make things worse,” he said. Dean shut his mouth again. 

Jack’s arms tightened around Cas. “Dad, I don’t want you to leave,” he said. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Jack,” Cas said. “Never again.” 

“Then Dean has to go,” Jack said. 

“Please, Jack,” Dean said, hands wiping across his face. 

“Why?”

“Because he -- he -- he can’t take care of you,” Jack said, words hiccuping in his throat. “He -- he wants -- and he’s -- he’s afraid,” Jack said. “And if he’s afraid he can’t take care of you. I’m not afraid!” He pushed back from Cas, slamming the door to his bedroom behind him. 

Cas flew down the stairs. Dean had picked himself up from the floor. Cas’ hand pushed him into the wall. 

“What the hell did you say to him?” He asked. Dean did not look beautiful. Dean looked angry. He looked sad. He looked scared. 

“I didn’t --” Dean said. 

“Don’t lie,” Cas warned. 

“I -- he asked me in Baby. If I was...uncomfortable. At the game.” Dean’s head dropped down. He did not meet Cas’ eye. 

“Uncomfortable?” Cas asked. His hand trembled. He faced rejection in a basement with tears in his eyes. He faced scorn in a stairwell with fury on his face. 

“Because of the people,” Dean said. “I’m not -- you know I’m not -- but Jack doesn’t, he doesn’t get why I can’t -- and why you --” Dean cut himself off, leaning his head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Jack is afraid,” Cas said. 

“I know,” Dean said. “I get it.” 

“He is a child,” Cas said. 

“I know, Cas,” Dean said. “I know, I don’t -- I don’t deserve to be part of his life.”

“Perhaps not,” Cas said. Dean flinched. “But he is young. He doesn't understand everything yet. The world is still very simple for him. Have you given him a reason to be afraid?”

“I don’t -- I didn’t mean to,” Dean said. Cas’ hand relaxed from Dean’s shirt. 

“I’ll speak with him,” Cas said. “As will you. But not tonight.” 

Dean relaxed. Cas shoved him against the wall again. “If he tells me a different story, Dean, if he suggests for one second that you made him feel anything less than loved, less than wanted...I will never love you for that.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay.” A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, cutting a path down his cheek.

“You need to go, Dean,” Cas said. Dean’s face crumpled again. 

“Okay,” he said. He pushed past Cas, climbing the stairs to his room. The guest room. Five minutes later he walked out the front door, climbed into the Impala, and drove off. 

“Jack won’t talk to me,” Cas said. Howard looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise. 

“No? What happened there?” He asked. 

“He and Dean had a fight,” Cas said. 

“You take Dean’s side?”

“No,” Cas said. “No. But Jack was wrong, too. He didn’t know everything. He saw it from his position, as a child, and couldn’t see the bigger picture beyond that.”

“And what was his position, if I may ask?”

“After his basketball game...some people assumed Dean and I were together. I thought it might make Dean upset, which made me upset. Jack only saw me, he couldn’t hear my thoughts.”

“So he blamed Dean,” Howard concluded. “Decided he wasn’t good enough for his dad anymore, eh?”

“Jack loves Dean,” Cas said. “In his own way. As he does with everyone. But he is the most cautious of Dean.”

“Does he have a reason to be?” Howard asked. He pulled away from the shading he was doing, frowning at Cas.

“At one point...Dean was not himself. Things had happened, situations were out of our control. Jack understands that, fully. He also knows he is stronger than Dean. And --” Cas took a deep breath, “-- should I ever have to, I would not fail to protect him with every cell in my body.” 

“Okay,” Howard said. He leaned back down, resuming the shading. “I don’t want that kid in a bad place, Cas.”

“I would rather die,” Cas said. 

“And Dean?”

“I love him,” Cas admitted. “But he and I -- we are very wrapped up in one another’s lives. I let him in again. I was selfish. But if he and I cannot be together...I am not sure we should be together. In any capacity.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Howard said. “But it sounds like boundaries, and those can be good. It also sounds to me like you’ve got a teenager.”

“Hmm?” Cas asked.

“Trust me, Cas, I’ve got one. Growing up isn’t easy. Sometimes they get a little in over their heads. He’ll talk when he’s ready. It’s your job to listen.”

“Presence and patience,” Cas said. 

“Hey, you listened!”

“Of course, Howard,” Cas said. Howard set the tattoo machine aside. 

“Well, then listen closely when I say this might be our finest collaboration yet.” 

“Is it done?” Cas asked. 

“Yes, sir, just stand up here and you can take a look in the mirror.” 

Cas stood, rocking on his feet to bring feeling back into his legs. He stood before the full-length mirror. He turned around. 

“Hello?”

“Are you Claire Novak?”

“Who’s asking?”

“My name’s Howard. I’m your dad’s tattoo artist. Can you come down to Needlepoint Tattoos? He -- he had one hell of a panic attack.”

Chapter Text

“All set,” the artist said, setting the machine down. “I’ve still got to wrap it, but the ink’s in.”

Castiel looked down at his ribs. The skin around each black line has pinked and reddened, but the lines were sharp and the ink was holding. He let out a sigh of relief. 

“You like it?” The artist asked, smiling. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. “It’s just what I wanted.”

“Happy to help,” the artist said. “I hope your family likes it.” 

“Mm,” Castiel hummed, trying to keep his tone from sounding disagreeable. 

“Do they know you’re getting it?”

“They do not.”

“Big surprise? That’s cool. Always fun.” 

Castiel nodded mechanically. 

“So,” Claire said, “you told your tattoo artist I was your kid.” She sat cross-legged on Cas’ couch, braiding and rebraiding a lock of her hair. 

“I did. I am sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I know I am not actually your father,” Cas said. He sat on the opposite side of the couch, watching her fiddle with the ends, twisting them around each other like she was going to knot the braid closed. 

“I know,” Claire said. “You’re just you.” She dropped the braid. The last few crosses of it untwisted themselves. “So, what made you freak?” She asked. 

“Freak?” Cas asked. 

“Y’know. Lose your cool.”

“Oh. I -- I don’t really know.”

“Liar,” Claire said. She kicked his leg with her foot. “Come on, tell me. If I had to drive over from Columbia to drag your ass off of a tattoo parlour’s couch, I deserve to know what lit the fuse.”

“I do appreciate you coming,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to pull you away from your case.”

“You’re lucky I got the ghost an hour before,” Claire said. “Otherwise it’d be you versus the dead frat boy, duking it out for my attention.” 

“Yes, well, I’m proud of you,” Cas said. He ran a hand through his hair. 

Claire nudged him again. “What’s up, Cas?” 

“I --” Cas started. He took a deep breath. “I’m having trouble.” 

“With?”

“Sleeping. My emotions. I had trouble eating, but now that food isn’t scarce, I suppose my appetite has leveled out again.” 

“Wow,” Claire said. She picked at her braid. 

“You don’t need to worry about any of this, Claire,” Cas said. “I shouldn’t bother you with this. You just need to take care of yourself.” 

“Yeah, well,” Claire said. “I’m worried. Sue me.” 

“You sound like Dean,” Cas said. 

“Why’d you call me?” Claire asked. “Not him? Or Sam?”

“I didn’t want them to see me like this.”

“They don’t know?”

“They know. Or, they knew. I think they still suspect things, but the less they know the better.”

“Y’know, you don’t have to keep all this to yourself.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because I just drove two and a half hours to pick you up and they’re all, like, thirty minutes away.” 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Cas said. 

“What, because I’m a kid?”

“No, Claire, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then why not?”

“I have always been useful to them,” Cas said. “I’m not anymore. I don’t have my grace. I can’t even sleep through the night. More often than not I have needed to be slower, more gentle, than our lives ever afforded. They have no reason to take care of someone who cannot take care of himself.” 

“Fuck, Cas,” Claire said. Cas glared at her. “Okay, uh, fudge. You ever see that movie?”

“Yes.”

“Good. But, uh, fudge, Cas. You know what? No. Fuck,” Claire said, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “That’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever said. You’re not just useful, Cas, they care about you.”

“It is conditional.”

“No, it’s not. Dude, Sam would still think you’re smart even if you weren’t fluent in every language.”

“I am,” Cas said. “I retained them when my grace evaporated.”

“Okay, well, he would still think you’re cool no matter what. And Dean? I mean, take it from someone in love, Dean loves you.”

“He does not.”

“Oh, he doesn’t?”

“He doesn’t. He told me.”

“Wait, what?”

“He told me he does not love me.”

“When did that even come up in conversation?”

“I told him that I love him.”

“Wait, what?!” 

“Before -- before I died,” Cas said. “Or, rather, that’s how I died. I protected him by telling him I loved him. I was happy. The Empty collected on our deal.” 

“Holy shit. So, wait, when he got you out? Did he -- did he --” 

“I’m not sure exactly what he said when he got me out. I don’t remember my rescue, not really. When it destroyed my grace it also destroyed most of my memory of the event. Bits and pieces, but I'm not sure about them. But not long after Dean told me he ‘didn’t deserve that’. My confession, that is.”

“He could’ve just been talking about how shitty it was to confess and then, you know, die.”

“No,” Cas said. “I’ve done that before, actually. This was -- it was rejection.”

“That doesn't sound like Dean,” Claire said. “I mean, I guess I was just waiting for you two to get together.” 

“Were you?”

“Yeah. I mean, you reminded...you reminded me of Mom and Dad.”

She shifted forward, rocking in her seat. Then she dove forward, forcing herself into Cas’ space, tucking her body under his arm and her face into his shirt. Cas stroked her hair, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t really remember a lot,” Claire said. “But...they used to do these little things for each other. Dad would bring home flowers, or Mom would secretly put an extra sugar in his coffee. It was always small stuff. But they did it for each other. And you...you always healed Dean’s papercuts. And he would fix your tie. And it was stupid stuff, simple. But, that’s how I knew my Mom and Dad really loved each other. So I guess I thought it was the same for you guys.” She wrapped her arms around Cas’ middle. He flinched. 

“I’m sorry, Claire,” he said. “Just, could you move your left arm?” 

“Oh,” Claire said, extracting it from behind Cas’ back. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you. Apparently hyperventilating makes the blood vessels constrict, and after they relax they tend to swell.”

They breathed into the quiet for a moment. Claire squeezed him extra-hard, arm slung around his ribs, then backed up onto her side of the couch again. 

“So,” she said, picking at her fingernail. “Tattoo.” 

“Yes,” Cas said. “Multiple.”

“Multiple? You don’t seem like the type.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By Dean, I bet.” Claire smirked.

“You’re not wrong,” Cas said. A smile darted across his mouth before he could tamp it down. 

“I know,” Claire said. “I’m right about a lot of things.” 

“Claire,” Cas said, just an edge of the voice he would use to admonish Jack creeping in. 

“Yeah, I’ll let it go,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “But you have to tell me that you’ll accept help from others.” 

“I’ll accept help from others,” Cas said. She smiled at him. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. “And that, like, you don’t have a really wonky line on your back now.” 

“From my ‘freak?’” Cas asked. 

“Yeah,” Claire said. “Cause then you’d have to get a coverup, and I think your artist might be a little jumpy.” 

“I do feel awful for Howard,” Cas said. “I’ll have to apologize to him next week.” 

“Next week?” Claire said. “What, you’re going back?”

“Oh, yes,” Cas said. “It wasn’t the tattoo that made me panic. Unfortunately, that’s been part of my life since I was rescued.” 

“Wow,” Claire said. “Well, let me know if you want me to come. I can hold your hand.” 

“Thank you,” Cas said. “But don’t think I don’t know you’re just trying to get a tattoo of your own.” 

“I’m old enough,” Claire said. “I can do what I want.” She picked at her fingernail again.

“Yes,” Cas said. He watched her scrape at her thumbnail. “Do you want me to paint your nails?”

“Only if I get to paint yours,” Claire said. Cas nodded. 

“Jack has blue, red, orange, and pink.” 

“Blue. But yours are going to be red.” 

“Alright,” Cas said. 

“Are you leaving already?” Jack asked, looking at Claire’s backpack leaned up against the door. 

“Yeah, kid, gotta go see my girlfriend sometime,” Claire said. “I’ll visit again.”

“Okay!” Jack said. “Tell evereyone I say hello.” 

“I will,” Claire said. “Get me courtside seats to your next game.”

“They’re not assigned seats,” Jack said. “Just get there early.”

“Sounds good,” Claire said. She held out her hand for a high-five. 

“I’m going to miss you,” Jack said, clapping his hand against hers. 

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna miss you, too,” Claire said. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, little bro.” 

“We aren’t related?”

“I know, Jack. Just roll with it.”

“Okay...sis.”

“Nice,” Claire said, shouldering her bag. 

“You have lunch?” Cas asked. 

“Yes, Dad , and dinner,” Claire said. “And food for another three days after that,” she said. “Sioux Falls is only six hours away, you know.” 

“Claire, driving while hungry is inadvisable. You could lose your concentration.”

“Right. Well, thanks for the food.”

“Of course,” Cas said. “Please do be safe.” 

“I will,” she said. “Come ‘ere,” she said, pulling Cas into a hug. Her left arm hung loosely around him, avoiding his tattoo. She stepped back, pulling Jack into a hug, too. 

“Have fun in Sioux Falls,” Jack said. 

“I’ll take you with me next time,” she said, winking at him. Jack smiled. 

Cas and Jack watched her drive off, hand waving out the window. 

“She’s so cool!” Jack said. “She taught me how to French braid and she told me all about Glee and she made me a milkshake when you went to bed early.” 

“Wow,” Cas said. “Well, she is pretty cool.” 

“The coolest,” Jack said. His brow furrowed. “It’s weird that your body was her dad.”

“Mm,” Cas hummed. “Well, if it helps, it wasn’t this body. This one was remade just for me.”

“Still,” Jack said. “You’re not very much alike. I guess you’re both really stubborn. But so is Dean, and she’s a lot more like him.” 

“Like Dean?” Cas repeated. “Yes, I’d say so, too.” He looked at Jack for a long moment, listening to the empty home around them as they stood in the foyer. When Dean had lived with them, he was always ushering them from room to room, asking them to come taste something in the kitchen, or to get out of it, or to get their opinion on what the crown moulding should look like. He’d played music, too, and not just rock and roll. Jazz, too, a habit he picked up from going through the bunker’s old records. 

Jack scrunched his nose. 

“Do you want to talk, Jack?” Cas asked. “I’d love to listen if there’s something on your mind.” 

“I --” Jack started. He stopped. “Can we sit out by the dock?” 

“Of course,” Cas said. “I’ll grab some blankets.” 

They drug themselves down to the dock, only a few feet from the back door, but far enough for the heavy blankets to weigh down their arms. Jack wrapped himself in his quilt, once rescued from the Goodwill store and patched together by Sam, little scraps of torn shirts and old fabric covering the holes. Cas sat next to him, both of them in Adirondacks that kept their feet from the icy water below. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Jack,” Cas said. Jack pulled the blanket closer to himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. 

“For what?”

“I made Dean leave.”

“That’s not something to be sorry about, Jack.”

“But it made you sad.”

“Yes. But that’s okay. Your happiness is more important than mine. And being your dad makes me very happy.” 

“Things got complicated,” Jack said.

“Things tend to do that,” Cas said. 

“The last time things got complicated...” Jack sniffed. Cas saw him, not as his son, sitting on the dock, but curled up in his bed, recounting a nightmare. 

“Dean hurt you,” Cas concluded. 

“Not really,” Jack said. “I wasn’t -- he couldn’t hurt me. Not really. But he hurt my feelings.”

“That’s what makes you, you,” Cas said. “That’s important.”

“Well, he didn’t always,” Jack said. “And I think that’s important, too.” He pulled at his blanket again. “But I hurt his feelings when I told him to leave.”

“You did,” Cas said. Jack frowned. “But you can make things better,” he added. “But only if you want to. Some things aren’t worth forgiving.” 

“I’m not sure I want to forgive him,” Jack said. “But I don’t want to be angry anymore.”

“That’s very mature,” Cas said. “Where did you learn that?”

“From Claire,” Jack said. “That’s how she said she feels about you.” 

The water was nowhere near him, but Cas felt it spilling into his lungs. 

“Oh,” he said. His mind flickered to her, probably racing north on I-81. 

“She’s really not mad,” Jack said. “And I talked to her about Dean. And I don’t want to be mad, either.” 

“Okay,” Cas said. “How do you want to do that?”

“I want to talk to him,” Jack said. “And I want him to live here again.”

“You do?” Cas asked. 

“I liked him living here. I like living here with you, too, but Dean made the house all noisy. You’re a lot quieter,” Jack said. 

“That’s true,” Cas said. 

“And he watched basketball with me. I know he didn’t like it, but he did it anyway.” 

“He did,” Cas said. 

“So I want him to live here again.” 

“Okay,” Cas said. 

“And then you’ll be happy again,” Jack said. 

“Jack, Dean doesn’t have to come back for me.”

“He always comes back for you,” Jack said. 

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like it, okay? You can change your mind. I’ll always take your side.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before, either. I was just upset.”

“I know,” Cas said. 

“I thought if you were too happy, you might get taken again. And then I thought if you weren’t happy enough, you might leave.” 

“I won’t leave, Jack,” Cas promised. “No matter how good or bad, I’m here. You can always come home. I’ll be here.” 

“Okay,” Jack said. He frowned. “How do I tell Dean I want him to come back? He’s really mad at me.” 

“Well, you could call him,” Cas said. “Or you could invite him to your basketball games again.” He watched Jack, watched his child so unsure. “I could talk to him, too.”

“You could?” Jack asked. “I just don’t want to make things worse, but I don’t want him to live alone anymore.” 

“He may not want to come back, Jack,” Cas said. 

“He will.”

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“I know, but I know he will.” 

“If you’re sure,” Cas said. 

“I am.” 

“Then I’ll call him tonight,” Cas said. “And I’ll tell him you want to talk about your fight. We can go to the bunker for dinner and you can talk then.” 

“Okay,” Jack said. “Can we go in now? I’m cold.”

“We can go in, Jack,” Cas said. “Do you want me to make hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please,” Jack said. “I’m excited for Dean to come back. He always puts cinnamon in his hot chocolates.” 

“I can put cinnamon in your hot chocolate, Jack.”

“No thank you, it’s a me-and-Dean thing.” 

Cas waited until it was past Sam and Eileen’s bedtime. Jack’s, too; the boy had tucked in early, trying to get a good night’s sleep before his basketball game in the morning. Cas had gone to bed, too, lying on the sheet, pillows angling his right side away from the bed. He dialed Dean’s number. Moonlight sliced through the blinds on his window. Dean picked up on the second ring.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “Cas, you there?”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. 

“Man, I -- it’s good to hear from you, Cas. Are you okay? Is Jack okay?”

“We’re fine,” Cas said. 

“Okay?” Dean said. He sounded confused. “I’m -- I’m really sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to fuck everything up.”

“That’s why I’m calling,” Cas said. “Jack wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay,” Dean said. “Is he there?”

“No,” Cas said. “He wants to talk in-person.” 

“Should I come to his game?” Dean asked. “He has one tomorrow, right?”

“He does, but I don’t think that would be good,” Cas said. “It’s too many people, and he’ll be distracted. But we could come over for dinner, if that’s alright.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. “Just gonna be me and the kids.” 

“Alright,” Cas said. “We can be over around six.”

“That works. Any requests? I was gonna make soup, but since you two are joining, I can make something else.” 

“Soup is fine, Dean,” Cas said. 

“Yeah? You two been eating well? Did I teach you enough?”

“We’ve been fine.”

“‘Fine’ doesn’t sound like ‘satisfied.’ Remind me when you’re over, I’ll pull some recipe cards for you.”

“That won’t be necessary, Dean.”

“Oh, okay.” 

“But it will be good to eat your cooking again. It is my favorite.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be good to have someone other than Eileen appreciating it,” Dean said. 

“Have you been eating well, Dean?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m -- I’m okay.”

“I’m glad. You deserve it.” The phone crackled for a moment, both ends silent. 

“Does Jack hate me?” Dean asked. 

“He does not.” 

“I’ve given him a pretty freaking good reason to.”

“You have. But he does not.”

“He should.”

“You think so. I do not. Neither does Jack.”

“And why is that, exactly? Because I hate me a whole lot.”

“Jack is a child. He is very forgiving. The world, despite its attempts, is still very bright for him.”

“Yeah? And what about you? You’re not a child.”

“No. But I am partial. It is my cross to bear.” 

“Thinking like that’ll get you killed,” Dean griped.

“It did,” Cas said. The line went quiet again. 

“Didn’t think a week without talking to you would be this bad,” Dean mumbled. 

“We got comfortable,” Cas said. “We used to go months without speaking.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s domestic bliss,” Dean said. Cas could hear the bitter smile over the phone. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Cas said. “I used to wage wars against hell’s armies. Now I have a least-favorite fork.”

“Is it the one with the tine that’s bent?”

“It is.” 

“Shit, Cas, I gotta apologize for that.”

“How did you break it?”

“I, uh, tried to open a root beer with it. No more bottle opener on my keychain, so I improvised.”

“Did you get it open?”

“Uh, no. It’s still in your refrigerator door.”

“You’ll be replacing that,” Cas said.

“Uh, okay,” Dean said. He yawned. “I’m sorry, Cas, just, kinda tired.”

“I can let you go, Dean.”

“No, no, uh, let me just…” Dean’s finger tapped the phone. “Okay, you’re on speaker. Um. I’m gonna...I’m gonna get into bed.”

“Okay,” Cas said. 

“And then maybe we can just talk? I’m gonna fall asleep or, uh, if you’re tired, you can go to bed.”

“How will we hang up?”

“Uh, we...we won’t. Until the morning.”

“Oh,” Cas said. “Okay.” He moved the sheet aside, sliding his legs under it. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I dunno,” Dean said. “Sorry, this is dumb --”

“Tell me about your tattoo,” Cas said. 

“My tattoo?” Dean repeated.

“Yes. Or something else, if you’d rather.”

“No, uh, it’s okay. It, uh, didn’t start out that great,” Dean said. “Sam had a pretty bad run-in. Meg, actually, before she became your best buddy,” Dean laughed a bit. “Back then she was still one-hundred percent bad. And, uh, she got inside Sam, which isn’t as funny as it sounds, and she did some real damage.”

“You don’t have to talk about this, Dean,” Cas said, noticing the tightness in Dean’s voice.

“No, it’s okay,” Dean said. “But that’s what happened. So after the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Bobby got us these little necklaces. They had the symbol on ‘em. Told us they’d keep us from getting possessed. This is where things get funny,” he said. 

“So, I know I haven’t been wearing a lot of jewelry these past years,” Dean said, “except for some rings, but back then, I was always wearing stuff. I had the amulet Sam gave me, a bunch of rings, some bracelets. I even thought about getting my lip pierced. Or, uh, my nipples. But I never went through with it. But Sam, he’s never been big on jewelry. Never even got a class ring, not like I did, but he graduated high school and he still didn’t get one. Loser. So when Bobby gave us these necklaces, he hated having to wear his. Kept telling me the cord scratched his neck, or that it got twisted around under his shirt, or that he was afraid it would fall off. Excuses, all of them, but it was kinda fun to see him squirm. But then he comes up to me and he says he’s got the perfect solution. So I’m like, great, I’m in. I don’t want some demon jumping my bones anytime soon, and if it gets this kid to quit whining on me, I’ll move heaven and earth. And he takes out this little paper, and he’s drawn the symbol on it, and he says ‘let’s get it tattooed.’”

“Now, I’m not sure if you noticed, but John Winchester did not have one tattoo on his body,” Dean said. 

“I didn’t notice,” Cas said. “I was distracted by his parenting.”

“Okay, easy tiger,” Dean said, but Cas could hear his smile. “Well, he wasn’t exactly the type to approve of ink. Now, I’m young, I’m still trying to...I don’t know, walk in his shoes. Sometimes still am. Usually doesn't work out. And back then, I knew it wouldn’t either. I mean, Sam is insistent. You know how he gets. He talks about it at breakfast. And in the car. And he points at every tattoo shop along the way and offers for us to stop in.”

“I know someone else who did that,” Cas said, arm twisted to look at the tattoo of his angel blade.

“Tomato, tomato,” Dean said. 

“I believe they’re supposed to be pronounced differently,” Cas said. He grinned.

“Fine. Castiel, Cas-teel,” Dean said. 

“I’ll hang up,” Cas said.

“You can’t, I haven’t gotten to the best part. So eventually this kid wears me down, right? And, I mean, don’t ever tell him I said this -- seriously, do not ever repeat this -- but it wasn’t a bad idea. So we stop off at this shop, and I’m not feeling it. Big burly guys, there’s like, one lightbulb, everything’s all hearts with arrows through ‘em or anchors. Not my scene. But Sam’s down, and they’re down, and it’s cheap. So, whatever, right? Guy’s like ‘where do you want it?’ and Sam points to his chest. Again, whatever. Not a bad idea, because it’s harder to get cut or scratched, but also, chest tattoo? Really? No offense,” Dean added.

“None taken,” Cas mused. He felt his heartbeat behind his own. 

“Okay, so the guy takes us to the back room, and he’s like ‘which one of you is going first?’ and I have to, right? I’m the big brother, I gotta take one for the team. So I say I will and he sits me down, and you know all this: shirt off, shave, antiseptic, stencil, all that. So he goes to put the needle down and the gun’s buzzing --”

“Machine,” Cas corrected.

“--machine, and he’s like ‘this might hurt a little,’ like, duh, it’s a tattoo. But fuck, Cas, that shit hurt.” 

“Really?” Cas asked.

“What, you gonna tell me you fall asleep during yours?”

“I did,” Cas said. 

“Okay, fuck you,” Dean said. He laughed. “I didn’t fall asleep. I was very much aware of the little needles jabbing me a hundred times. But I can’t show it. I lose all my cool points if I show it. So my toes are clenched in my boots and I’m pretending the lights are making me hot but I’m not gonna cry. I’m gonna sit there and get this tattoo and then never get another one for the rest of my life.” 

“Resolute,” Cas muses. 

“Hell yeah,” Dean says. “And I make it through, and the guy puts the bandage on, and he’s like ‘okay, kid, your turn.’ And Sam settles down and he goes through the whole prep -- now, remember, he’s just seen me stick through it like a man -- and the needle touches his skin and this kid howls . I mean, he is yelping, squirming, breathing like he’s run a marathon. And Sam’s not afraid of needles, always did fine with his shots as a kid, and we both know he’s not afraid of knives, but something about it just got under his skin and he shivered like he was naked during a snowstorm.” 

“It can be a very different sensation,” Cas said. “A different kind of pain.”

“Yeah, well, he was not into it,” Dean said. “Like, to the point where other people started asking if he was okay. And I’m giving them a thumbs-up, and I’m still all fucked up from my own. But he makes it through, the trooper, and we pay and way over-tip, even with what little money we had, and we shuffle out to Baby with our tail between our legs.”

“And we get into the car, and I’ve got this weird chest hair pattern, and Sam’s all sweaty, and he pulls down the collar of his shirt to look at it, and I’m thinking ‘yeah, that’s it. No more of that.’ and the first thing he says to me is ‘dude. Tattoos are awesome.” 

Dean burst out laughing. Cas heard the joy. He imagined the crinkles that would form by Dean’s eyes, the way his lips would pull back, pressing his cheeks up. Dean would be beautiful right now. 

“My first tattoo, my artist said I might get addicted,” Cas said. 

“Oh yeah? Well, look at how that turned out,” Dean teased. 

“Yes, they were right,” Cas said. 

“Got any others on the books?” 

“Two,” Cas said. “Though one is fairly intense.” 

“Intense?” Dean asked. “What’s that mean?”

“Dean,” Cas said. 

“You know, the benefit to you not telling me is that I get to imagine whatever I want,” Dean said. “I think it’s barbed wire wrapped all the way around your thigh.” 

“It isn’t,” Cas said. 

“Then it’s one of those hearts that say ‘Mom’ in it, and you’re getting it ironically.” 

“That’s not it either,” Cas said. 

“Flaming skull.”

“No.”

“A compass that only points North.”

“No.”

“‘Carpe diem’ but the words trail off into little birds, and before you tell me ‘no,’ just remember that every one I guess wrong is one closer to guessing right.” 

Cas stayed silent.

“Congratulations on your bird tattoo, Cas,” Dean said. 

“Thank you,” Cas said. He yawned. 

“Get some sleep, Cas,” Dean said. “If you wake up before me, just yell.”

“Alright,” Cas said. “Sleep well, Dean.”

“You too.”

Cas placed the phone on his nightstand. He couldn’t hear Dean’s breathing through the receiver, but he saw the call time tick over second by second. His hand traced the tattoos on his forearm. 

He had withheld them from Dean. They would upset him. They were everything Cas wasn’t, or everything he shouldn’t be. They were the hopes he had for his body, the things that had happened to it. Dean wouldn’t like that. He didn’t remember scars. Cas had always healed them. 

Still, it would be nice to be so open. To feel comfortable enough for vulnerability. To be so achingly human around Dean and still be chosen by him. Perhaps he could show him more than a line. 

He fell asleep before he could decide. 

“Sam!” Jack called, racing out of the car and across the bunker’s lawn, “Did you hear?”

“Yeah, Jack!” Sam said, arms open and ready for Jack to throw his whole body weight against him. “Great job!” 

Eileen tapped Jack’s shoulder. He pivoted, wrapping his arms around her, too. 

“Did you kick their ass?” Eileen asked. Behind her, Cas rolled his eyes. 

“We won!” Jack said. “Only by six points, but we still won.”

“I’m proud of you, Jack,” Sam said, clapping Jack’s shoulder. “Come on, dinner’s ready.”

“Is Dean in the kitchen?” Cas asked. 

“Uh, yeah, just finishing up.” 

“Alright,” Cas said. “Thank you for having us for dinner.”

“‘Course,” Sam said. “It’s good that you guys are coming over, anyway.” 

The door to the bunker swung closed behind them, footsteps heavy on the stairs. Cas forgot how loud the industrial metal could be, softened over a mere two weeks by the old wood and vinyl to which he’d grown accustomed. He passed by the garden room, noting the old bag of potting soil had been replaced with new. 

“Is the garden still alive?” He asked Eileen. She shrugged.

“I mean, I water it,” she signed. “None of us have ever really died, so I don’t think it can, either.” Cas laughed. 

“Very optimistic,” he signed. 

“Of course,” Eileen signed. “But rabbits ate the carrots. They’re gone.”

“I knew I should have fenced them in,” Cas signed. He rounded the corner to the kitchen. Dean stood over a big stockpot. 

“Hello,” Jack said. Dean flinched. He spun around, ladle dripping onto the tile.

“Hey,” He said. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. “Thank you for making dinner.”

“It’s almost ready,” Dean said. “I thought you might be hungry, so I made a brisket and some matzo ball soup.” 

“Oh, that’s my favorite!” Jack said. 

“Yeah, kid, come taste it,” Dean said. “Gotta make sure I got the seasoning right.” He passed Jack a spoon. 

“This is great,” Jack said. “Will you make it again on Friday?”

“Oh, are you guys coming over again?” Dean asked. 

“We’ll talk,” Cas said. Dean’s timer dinged. 

“Soup’s on,” he said. “Everybody come get some.” 

Once they were seated around the kitchen table, food before them, Eileen spoke. 

“So,” she said. “I know we’re still busy celebrating Cas and Jack’s new house, but since everyone’s together, I thought it might be a good opportunity to steal some of your thunder.” She winked at Cas. 

“You finally decide to up and quit my brother?” Dean teased. Sam glared at him. 

“Opposite, actually,” Sam said. He pulled two rings out of his pocket, placing them on the table. “We’re getting married.”

“Congratulations,” Cas said, as Jack’s face broke into a smile and he asked, “Can I come to the wedding?” and Dean’s face slackened, eyes filling with tears instantly. 

“Wow,” Eileen said, watching the other side of the table. She picked up her ring, slipping it onto her finger. “Thanks, Cas. Yes, Jack, you can come. Are you okay, Dean?”

“I’m great,” Dean said, face red. “I’m just so fucking proud of you guys.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Sam said, standing and yanking on Dean’s arm until he could pull him into a hug. “I’m getting married, Dean, it’s not that big of a deal.” 

Dean nodded into his shoulder, making a grabby hand toward Eileen. She stepped over, letting him wrap his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her hair. 

“Guess I really missed my shot,” he signed, letting her go. He laughed. 

“There’s always divorce,” Eileen signed back. 

“Can I have a hug too?” Jack asked. Dean stared at him, vulnerability still writ into every line of his face. 

“Yeah, Jack,” he said. He wrapped his arms around Jack, tentative. Jack squeezed him so hard Dean gasped, air punched out of his lungs. “Okay, okay,” he wheezed. “You’re super-strong. Take it easy on me.” 

“Sorry,” Jack said. He sat back down, scooping up more soup. 

“Have you set a date for the wedding?” Cas asked, watching Sam twist his own ring on. 

“Not yet,” Sam said. “We’re kinda playing it by ear. We definitely want to be married, but we don’t really care about having a big wedding. We’ll probably just bring a license with us to Christmas, since everyone will be together then.” 

“Pretty far off,” Dean said, shoving a slab of brisket into his mouth. 

“Well, we want to move before then,” Eileen signed. 

“Move?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah, we’ve been looking at apartments and condos,” Eileen signed. “We haven’t found anything we like, yet, but we’ve got a few months.” 

“Oh,” Dean said. “Wow.”

“I talked to Jody and the girls,” Sam said. “She says Claire wants to take over the bunker, use it as an in-between. And I gave her Krissy’s contact, I can’t imagine she wouldn’t want to make use of a space like this.”

“So you’re retiring?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I mean, it’s been good to you and Jack.”

“Basketball is so much more fun than fighting god,” Jack said. 

“Absolutely,” Sam said. “So, thought we might give it a try.” He nudged Eileen. She leaned over, kissing his shoulder. 

“What’re you going to do?” Dean asked. 

“Not sure,” Sam said. “I mean, it’s not like we’re strapped for cash. We’ve got enough bank notes from the Men of Letters to not really need to work. But I think it’d be nice to get a job.” 

“I was thinking I’d restart my garden,” Cas said. “At the house. Perhaps sell my vegetables.”

“Sounds great,” Sam said. “I was thinking I might try to get a job at a library. Or a university. Finish my degree, work in research. Could be nice.”

“You love books,” Jack said. 

“That I do.”

“I’m not sure what I want to do,” Eileen said. “But I’ll figure something out.” 

“That’s great,” Dean said. “I’m really happy for you guys.” Only Cas could see the way Dean’s hand curled into a fist under the table. But he saw the knuckles whiten, saw the grip turn painful, sure that Dean’s fingernails, even trimmed, were cutting into his palm. 

They sent Sam and Eileen away with instructions to celebrate their engagement and not come back before midnight. Jack wandered off to get some books he wanted to bring home from the library. Cas stayed with Dean, watching him clean up the kitchen. 

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas asked. 

“What? Yeah, fine,” Dean said. He scrubbed a plate. 

“Are you sure?”

“What, you know me better than I know myself now?”

“No.”

“Then I’m fine.”

“If you insist.”

“I think that’s what ‘I’m fine’ is me doing.”

“Dean.”

“What, Cas?”

Cas looked down. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have come to dinner.”

“What?” Dean dropped the plate in the sink. It splashed in the soapy water. 

“It was unkind to you.”

“What? No, Cas, unkind is kicking me out, then not calling for a week.”

“I had to protect Jack.”

“I’m not gonna hurt the kid, Cas. I would never.” Dean dropped his head, back hunched over the sink. “Not again, at least.”

“I know,” Cas said. “But Jack didn’t. And he deserves a relationship with you Dean, but one that isn’t tarnished by my opinions.”

“And what are those? That I’m a fuckup? A bad...I don’t know...uncle?”

“No.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” The bunker’s lights cast a pallid glow over Dean’s neck. 

“Jack doesn’t hate you, Dean,” Cas said. “We’re here so he can talk to you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. He turned, facing Cas. “But do you hate me?”

Cas’ brow furrowed. “No, Dean,” he said. “I do not.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed. 

“I’m not sure I can,” Cas said. “I’ve certainly hated you before. But that was before I knew you, too. As I do now.”

“Just wait,” Dean said. “You, and Jack, and Sam, and Eileen...you’re all getting better. I’m not.” 

“That’s not true, Dean,” Cas said. “You’re trying.” 

“Not hard enough.”

“Then you’re honest about it.”

“Yeah, well, no point in lying. No one’s around to hear it.”

“Is this about Eileen and Sam moving?”

“Everyone leaves, Cas.”

“That’s not true, Dean.”

“You left.”

“I moved.”

“I know.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, Dean.”

“Because? No, Cas, how’s it any different from every other time you walked out the front door? Huh? I get it, okay? I really do. You don’t have to tell me I’m valuable, that you want to be my friend. I got the message loud and clear when I got you out. Okay? But don’t act like this isn’t anything other than you leaving again, just with a better destination to go to.” 

“It’s different because I want you to leave, too.” 

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t --”

“No, Cas, what are you talking about? What, Claire comes down here and now I’m out too? Start over again? That was never much fun, Cas, and I should know, I grew up doing it. Now I have to leave here, too?”

“Dean, talk to Jack --”

“No, Cas. I’m talking to you right now. What do you want from me? Because it feels a little like you’re trying to take me along for the ride, right up until you decide I’m not worth the trouble.”

“I’m asking you to move back,” Cas said, eyes hard. 

“What?” Dean’s face was slack again, eyes open, mouth parted. He looked like that four days into sleeping in Cas’ guest room, when Cas presented him with flannel sheets, knowing Dean preferred them. Dean insisted it wasn’t his bed. Cas knew that wasn’t true. 

Cas glared at him again. “Rather, I’m not,” he says. Dean’s brow furrowed. “Jack is. Or will be, once you speak. I won’t say more on this, I promised him this would be his conversation.”

“But I’m coming back?”

“If you want to.”

“Of course I do, Cas.” 

“I don’t want to burden you.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one stepping on your toes.”

“Well, you aren’t obligated.” 

Jack bounded around the corner of the kitchen. “I put all the books I want in the car, Dad,” he said. 

“Okay, Jack,” Cas said. He nodded toward Dean. “Do you two want to talk for a moment?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” Cas said. “I’ll be in the garden.” 

When Dean and Jack found him, Dean was carrying a duffel. 

“Hey,” he said. “So, uh, I’m gonna go home with you guys.”

“Good,” Cas said. “I’m glad.” 

“Yeah, so, I’m gonna throw this in Baby.” 

“How do you feel, Jack?” Cas asked, watching Dean walk away.

“I feel great! Dean and I apologized to each other for all the bad stuff and promised we’d only try to do good stuff, but even if we can’t we’ll talk to each other first.” 

“That sounds healthy,” Cas said. “I see Dean is moving back.”

“Yes! And now he can make me breakfast and he can make you happy and we can all go to my basketball games and when Sam and Eileen move Dean won’t be alone.” 

“That sounds beautiful, Jack.”

Jack frowned. “Doesn’t that mean it’ll be sad?”

“Oh, Jack,” Cas said, reaching out for Jack’s face, palm cupping Jack’s cheek. “Sometimes beauty is just beauty. I think we’ve had enough sadness already.” 

“I think so too,” Jack said. “Can we go home now?”

“We can.” 

Cas dropped his hand. Dean walked back, arms empty. 

“Dean!” Jack said, waving, “We’re going home!” 

“Okie dokie,” Dean said, “You riding with me or Dad?” 

“Can I drive?” Jack asked. 

“Not on the highway,” Dean said, eyes glancing up to Cas to make sure it was okay. 

“But in the suburbs?”

“Sure, kiddo.”

“Okay, then I want to ride with you.”

“I’ll see you back home,” Cas said. 

He watched Dean toss the car keys to Jack. He watched them rev the Impala’s engine. Watched Dean check to make sure Jack’s seatbelt was on, that his rearview mirror was adjusted. Watched Dean laugh when Jack changed the music from the Rolling Stones to Ariana Grande. He slid into his own front seat and pulled out of the driveway, watching the Impala’s tail lights the whole way home. 

He watched Jack slide out of the driver’s seat. Watched Dean high-five him, duffel slung over his shoulder. Watched the two of them climb the stairs. Watched Dean’s hand knock on the threshold, quickly, to himself, before stepping inside. He climbed the steps himself, walking into a home that had Jack rummaging through the pantry, Dean insisting that he’d make stovetop popcorn. Their boots clattered on the floor. A soda can hissed. The television turned on, backing their chatter with color commentary and crowd cheers. Jack laughed, vibrant and bright. Dean did, too. They looked beautiful, painted with light from the refrigerator and the kitchen’s overheads. Cas heard himself laugh. 

“Could you add a clover?”

“A clover?” Howard asked. “Like, a four-leaf one?”

“A shamrock.”

“Like Ireland?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Exactly that.”

“Sure,” Howard said, pulling out his stylus. “Right over here?” He pointed at the drawing.

“That’s perfect,” Cas said. 

“Can I ask why we’re adding it in now?”

“I have family from Ireland.” 

“So, the flowers are places?” Howard asked. 

“Howard, you don’t have to play dumb,” Cas said. 

“I’m teasing, Cas. The flowers are places. You said Jack was born in Washington, yeah? I figured it out.”

“I assumed you did.”

“So that means Claire’s Illinois?”

“Myself, too,” Cas said. “In a way.”

“A way?”

“I wasn’t born there, but it’s where I really became myself.” 

“Gotcha. You know, I was raised in Louisiana. Sometimes it still feels more like home.”

“I understand,” Cas said. 

“So who’s this new family?” Howard asked. “Must be a long-lost relative, for them not to make the original cut.”

“Eileen has been part of my life for some time,” Cas said. “She’s marrying Dean’s brother, Sam.” 

“Oh yeah?” Howard asked. “That’s cool. I love weddings, man. So much fun. So, what, Eileen by way of Sam by way of Dean gets ink credits?”

“She deserves them,” Cas said. 

“So that means Dean’s still family, too,” Howard said. “Or am I getting rid of the sunflower?” 

“You are not,” Cas said. 

“So…” Howard said, turning the iPad around, “What’s been going on with you two?” 

“Dean’s living with me. That’s perfect.”

“Living with you?” Howard asked, sending the drawing to the printer. “What happened to kicked out?”

“Things changed,” Cas said. “Jack wanted him to come back.”

“Uh-huh,” Howard said. “And what happened to healthy?”

“Believe it or not,” Cas said, “we’re still nowhere near ourselves at our worst.”

“Man, you two better be ex-mafia or CIA or something for that to be true.”

“You’re not as far off as you could be,” Cas said. Howard turned on his heel, halfway to picking up the stencil. 

“Is that right?” He asked. “Cas, I know you just want to tell me about Jack and whatever book you just read, but I’ve picked up on the fact that you’ve got some serious stuff in your past. One day, I’ll get you to tell me all of it.” He grinned, walking back with the stencil. 

“Perhaps during our next appointment,” Cas said. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” Howard said. “Which, by the way, I was looking at the timing of it and it’s all up to you. I’d book you in for two sessions usually, like how we split up your backpiece, but you sit well and don’t seem to mind the stabbing, so if you’d like to shorten that to one we can just go long.”

“That works for me,” Cas said. “You’re right, I don’t mind.”

“You really have gone through some shit, haven’t you?” Howard said, squinting at Cas. 

“Yes, well, I’d like to go through getting a tattoo now.”

“I know, I know,” Howard said. “Ready for me to fuck up your hair growth?” 

“As I’ll ever be.”

When Cas stood, Howard placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Be safe, Cas,” he said. 

“I will.”

“I know I don’t know it all, okay? There’s a lot you’re not telling me. That’s fine, your life, whatever. I’ve met Dean, alright? That guy cares about you. You definitely care about him. But you’ve been in and out of here doing this dance and...just be safe, alright? Try to be happy?”

“I will.”

“And remember: you get his name, you tempt fate.”

“I’ve done that a few times,” Cas said. “But I have no intention of getting his name.”

“Mhmm,” Howard said. “Touch-ups are free, cover-ups are not.” 

“That’s only fair,” Cas said. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Cas toed off his shoes inside the front door. The house was quiet, something it had not been since Dean moved back. Dean and Jack’s fishing poles were leaned against the back door. He couldn’t hear a basketball bouncing. Cas padded through the house, eyes at the ceiling, wondering if his family had taken a nap. 

“Pass me the spade, Jack,” Dean said, voice muffled by the back wall. Cas walked over, swinging the door open. 

Dean and Jack had dug up the backyard, heaping soil around the perimeter of the house. 

“Hi, Dad!” Jack said. He passed a spade over to Dean, who looked up. 

“Oh, hey,” Dean said. “How was the appointment?”

“Good,” Cas said, watching them work. “Are you...?”

“Dean said you missed your garden,” Jack said. “So we’re making you one here.”

“Oh,” Cas said. Dean’s eyes shot up. 

“What?” He asked. “You don’t like it? Come on, green giant, this is right up your alley.”

“I love it,” Cas said. He walked down the back steps, bending to examine their work. He pressed soil between his fingers, feeling it squish into every loop and whorl of his fingerprints. “I’m not quite sure what to say.”

“‘Thanks’ always works,” Dean said, giving Cas a half-smile. Dirt was smudged on his cheek, like he’d wiped his brow earlier. 

“Thank you,” Cas said. “Truly.”

“Come check out the seeds we bought,” Jack said. He grabbed Cas’ hand, dragging him over to an array of packets. They had bought one of everything, it seemed; carrots, tomatoes, eggplant, bell peppers, mint, rosemary, basil, even artichoke. 

“If there’s not enough space we can wrap it around the side,” Dean said, watching Cas examine the seed packets. 

“We may need to wrap it around the front,” Cas said, fingers skimming over the herbs.

“Whatever you say, angel,” Dean said, laughing. “Just tell me where you want the fencing. I will not let rabbits eat your carrots this time.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said. “Under the window should be fine.”

“Alright,” Dean said. “Hey, would you mind getting the kid and I some water? We’re covered in soil.”

“No problem,” Cas said. “I’ll start dinner, too.”

“Ooh, what’re we having?” Jack asked. 

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Cas said. He winked at Dean, climbing the steps again. He filled two water bottles, leaving them on the steps for Jack and Dean. 

He got out the ground beef, the tomatoes, and the pasta. When his hands rolled the meatballs up he did not flinch. When he boiled the water he did not ache. When Dean and Jack stumbled in, stairs creaking under their feet as they climbed up to their bathrooms he did not ache. When they sat around the kitchen table Sam and Dean had drug inside, eating the food Cas made until they were full and happy he thought: this is beauty. 

It was beautiful, too, when Dean leaned in his doorway, wrapped in pajamas, and knocked on his door. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, setting aside his book. 

“What’re you reading?”

“Sally Rooney.”

“That the one where the kids break up? Sam read it.” 

“It is,” Cas said. 

“Oh, shit, did I just spoil the ending?”

“You did not. Claire did.” 

“Oh, okay,” Dean said. He looked backward. Jack’s door was closed, the boy having shut himself away half an hour earlier to play video games. 

“Do you want to come in, Dean?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. He shut Cas’ door behind him, padding over and sitting on the edge of Cas’ bed. He picked at the side of his hand, running his finger along the outside. 

“Are you alright?” Cas asked. Dean glanced up at him. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said. “Just --” he tilted his hand, showing Cas a small pink line on the outside of his palm. “It was stupid, cut myself the other day cooking. Bled all over the brownies I was making, which is a shame, because they were a damn good batch. Probably gonna have a little scar.” 

Cas’ stomach sank. “Jack could heal that for you,” he said. “Since I -- since I can’t.”

“It’s alright, Cas,” Dean said. “I’ve had much worse.”

“Yes, well, those weren’t exactly deserved.” Cas’ own hand fumbled with the cuff of his shirt. “I’m sure Jack wouldn’t mind, you know --”

“Cas,” Dean said. “It’s alright. I, uh, I know you kept Sam and I in tip-top shape for a while but humans don’t exactly look like that. We bruise. Or we scar. It’s alright.” He wiggled his hand, making the pink line pull against his palm. “I got this cooking. You know how long it’s been since it wasn’t something worse?”

“It’s been a very long time,” Cas admitted. 

“Yeah. Maybe if this came from a wraith I’d feel differently. But this here’s a battle scar. First one I’ve ever gotten that I’ve liked.” Dean smiled at him. 

Cas’ breath caught in his throat. He stared at Dean, at the body he had seen grow and shrink and fight and bruise and cook and garden and scar. Dean looked so beautiful. He was so beautiful. Cas loved him. 

“Hey, you okay?” Dean asked. “I didn’t mean to bring up the bad stuff,” he said. He reached out, hand falling on the only part of Cas he could reach: his thigh. Cas twitched back as Dean’s hand touched the tattoo he’d etched in earlier that day. Dean pulled his hand back. 

“Dean --”

“Shit, sorry, Cas. Don’t mean to be sending you into a panic or anything. I’m not trying to pull something. I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.” 

“It’s not that,” Cas said. “Just...that’s where the tattoo is.”

“The new one?” Dean asked. 

“Yes.”

“Wow, legs already. You’re moving pretty fast there, wings.”

“You know my anti-possession tattoo is on my thigh.” 

“Yeah, for hiding purposes. This one’s deliberate.” Dean grinned at him, like he’d figured out some secret. 

“That it is,” Cas said. He looked down at his clothing, at the fabric he’d wrapped himself in to protect his own scars. He took a deep breath. “I’d like to show them to you,” Cas said. 

The room fell quiet. Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper when he asked, “Your tattoos?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Not tonight.”

“Oh.”

“I just -- I have one more to get.”

“Oh, okay.”

“But I’d like you to see them.”

“Okay.”

“You have questions, I can see them on your face.”

“Why now?”

“You showed me your scar.” 

“What, this little line?”

“And it’s time we make decisions.”

“Decisions? Sounds scary. What will these decisions be about?”

“Us.”

“I -- I just got back, Cas.”

“I’m not asking you to leave.”

“Then what is there to talk about?”

“A great deal. We’ve been in each other’s lives for more than ten years, Dean. I understand that’s quite a long time for humans.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re one of the ones who stuck around.” Dean fidgeted on the bed. “When’s the appointment?”

“Three days.”

“Wow, soon.”

“I’d like to close out that chapter in my life.”

“What, no more after that?”

“None planned. I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Cool. And then the big reveal?”

“Then the ‘big reveal.’” 

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to put it in air-quotes,” Dean said. “Finally going to show off the Sharpie scribbles. Unless you change your mind,” he added. “Which, that’s okay.”

“I won’t, Dean,” Cas said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh,” Dean said. 

“Get some sleep, Dean,” Cas said. Dean’s face was red. Overtired, probably. 

“Okay,” Dean said. He stood. “Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said. Dean left. Cas heard him pad the few steps to his own door, closing it behind him. He slept that night.

Chapter Text

“So, just remember,” the artist said, “Keep this out of direct sunlight while it heals, first two weeks especially. And don’t pick at the bandage, you could pull up scabs that aren’t ready to come off and scar the tattoo or lose ink.”

“I can do that,” Castiel said. 

“Okay, and then just keep it clean, dry, and moisturized. Away from scented soaps and lotions. Once you’ve gotten through the bulk of the healing -- that’s the first six to eight weeks -- you should be good, but just take care of it while it’s still fragile. It’s an open wound, after all.”

“Alright,” Castiel said. 

“Well, you’re all paid up, so I think we’re good to go.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “I’ll make sure it heals well.”

“No problem. I should be thanking you -- you wouldn’t believe the number of people who scratch.” 

“You ready?” Howard asked. Cas’ shirt was half off, right arm exposed. 

“I’m ready,” Cas said. 

“Man, ten hours, one sitting. You’re one hell of a trooper.”

“You said that last time.”

“And I mean it, Cas. Just let me know when you need to pee, or when you’re getting hungry. Otherwise, I’m going in.” 

The machine’s motor was familiar, as was the sting of the needle as it sank into the skin of Cas’ arm. He relaxed into it. 

“Lunch break,” Howard said. Cas snapped back to attention. Four hours had passed. 

“Oh,” Cas said. He looked down at his arm. He smiled. 

“Like the progress?” Howard asked, digging a sandwich out of his lunchbox.

“It’s exactly what I imagined. It looks so real,” Cas said. 

“Glad I can deliver,” Howard said. 

Cas dug out his own lunch, a thermos of sweet potato soup Dean had made him the night before. He’d flavored it with coconut milk, calling it one of the few things Sam introduced him to that was worth his attention. 

“Damn, that smells good,” Howard said. “All I’ve got is a PB&J.”

“It’s Dean,” Cas said. “But I enjoy peanut butter and jelly, too.”

“Man, he cooks and he gardens?”

“I garden. But he constructed it.”

“Sounds like a man trying to win back your heart, if you ask me.”

“Favor, perhaps. He knows he has my heart. He never lost it.”

“So you two never…”

“Never?”

“You know, had a thing?”

“Oh,” Cas said. “No.” 

“That’s good,” Howard said. “Better to be a will-they-won’t-they than on-again, off-again.” 

“It is?” Cas asked.

“Yeah. Means when you do get together, it’s everything falling into place.” 

“Oh,” Cas said. “I’m not sure that’s in my future.”

“God’s plan,” Howard said. Cas snorted. “Yeah, should’ve known you wouldn’t go for that,” Howard teased. 

“I used to,” Cas said. “Not much these days.”

“It’s really not that surprising,” Howard said. “Keep me posted on you, though. I got used to seeing you around here, it’s going to be weird without you on the schedule.”

“I will,” Cas said. “I promised you dinner.”

“That you did,” Howard said. “And I’ll hunt you down at the community center courts if you don’t deliver.”

“Saturday?” Cas asked. “You can bring the whole family.”

“Yeah?” Howard asked. “That should be fine. I’ll have to text Nevaeh, make sure she doesn’t have plans with friends, but the rest of us are free.”

“Good,” Cas said. “Desiree is welcome, too.”

“You remember her?”

“Of course. She and Nevaeh were very welcoming.”

“Uh-huh,” Howard said. “Not sure that’s the word I’d use.” 

“Well, you haven’t really met Claire. When she’s not dragging me off your couch, she’s what Dean calls a ‘firecracker.’”

“Will I get to see that side?”

“Maybe,” Cas said. “She’s going to Jack’s game. He’ll try to convince her to spend the night.”

“Sounds good,” Howard said. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“No need,” Cas said. “Dean would love nothing more than to make you a pie.” 

Cas knocked on Jack’s door. 

“Come on in,” Jack said. 

Cas pushed the door open. Jack was sitting on his bed, painting his toenails orange. He looked up, smiling at Cas.

“Hi, Dad,” he said. “What’s up?”

Cas set a bowl of fruit on the bed. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said. “And I have a favor to ask.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, popping a sliced strawberry into his mouth. “What do you need?”

“I’d like you to heal my tattoo,” Cas said. 

“Really? But you usually like to heal them naturally.”

“Yes, well, this one was much more intensive. I’d rather not worry about it.”

“Okay!” Jack said. He screwed the nail polish cap on, setting the bottle aside. He shuffled forward on the bed, feet flopped out in front of him to keep his toes away from the comforter. He took Cas’ hand, screwing his eyes shut. Cas saw his irises flare gold under his eyelids, lighting his skin from the inside. He also felt the ache in his arm subside, the skin fully healed by his son’s grace. Jack dropped his hand, smiling at him again. “All better!” He said. 

“Thank you, Jack,” Cas said. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m okay,” Jack said. “But will you remind Dean to buy more grape leaves when he goes to the store?” 

“I will,” Cas said. 

He closed Jack’s bedroom door, walking across the hallway to his own. Dean caught him at the base of the stairs, calling up.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out soon, you or the kid want to come?”

“Oh,” Cas said. “I’ll go with you. I’ll be down in just a moment.”

“Cool,” Dean said. “I’m gonna get Baby warmed up.”

“Okay,” Cas said. 

He walked into his bathroom, stripping his shirt. The second skin Howard had applied clung to his now-healed skin. He peeled it off, grimacing at the adhesive that didn’t want to release. He wadded up the old bandages, shoving them into the trash can. He wet a washcloth, running it and some soap over his skin, stripping away the tackiness. 

The ink’s saturation was excellent, true black against his skin. Cas dipped his hand into the pot of lotion Dean had bought him; he no longer needed it, thanks to Jack, but the ritual of rubbing it in soothed him. 

He pulled on a new shirt and headed downstairs, fabric clinging to the drying lotion. 

“Jack wants grape leaves,” Cas said, sliding into the Impala’s passenger seat. 

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked. “Guess we’re heading to Greenleaf,” Dean said. “Hey, we can stop by the farmer’s market on our way back.”

“That sounds great,” Cas said. “I’d be happy to.” 

“You’ll love it, dude,” Dean said. “They had all your classic farmer’s market stands: honey, soap, those weird little gem jewelry things.”

“I see,” Cas said. “I’m sure it will be great.”

“We can ask about you getting a stand, too,” Dean added. “If you’re serious about becoming Old MacDonald.” 

“He had a farm, Dean, I have a garden,” Cas said. Dean laughed. 

“Uh-huh. I give you a year before we’ve got chickens.” 

‘We’, Dean said. He intended to be with Cas a full year later. Cas watched him, his easy posture in the car, the way his finger tapped out the beat of the song Cas played. Cas did not want a year, singular. Even fifty would be too few. 

“I have no intention of getting chickens,” Cas said. “I imagine Jack will want to go to college, eventually. I want him to pick whatever school he wants. I want to follow him there.”

“You want to go to college?” Dean asked. 

“No, I want to be nearby.”

“I knew you were a helicopter parent.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, Cas, not like how you do it. You’re around. That’s, uh, that’s what the kid deserves.”

“Yes, well, if you aren’t opposed to moving, you can be around, too,” Cas offered. 

“What, follow you following Jack around the country?”

“Yes.”

“I -- uh, I’ll think about it, Cas.” Dean’s face was at war with itself: his eyes were drawn in but his mouth trembled. 

“Please do,” Cas said. “I plan on asking Sam about how to enroll Jack, once he resumes his own studies.”

“Okay,” Dean said. His eyes darted up and down Cas’ face. He cleared his throat. “Don’t let me forget to buy more pastry flour,” he said. “I’m making turnovers.”

“Alright,” Cas said. “Also, I invited Howard and his family to dinner on Saturday.”

“Howard? Your tattoo artist?”

“Yes. We’ve finished all our planned sessions, so this is us going from client and artist to friends. I hope, at least.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Uh, how many are we expecting?”

“Either four or five. One of his daughters’ friends may join us.”

“Okay. And, uh, Claire’s coming, too?”

“Possibly. Jack will likely convince her to stay, unless she has plans.”

“Cool. Never had that many people to cook for.”

“You don’t have to do it alone, Dean. Or we can cater.”

“What?” Dean asked. “No way, these are your friends, they’re getting home-cooking. I’ll figure it out,” Dean said. “But remind me to get like, two bags of pastry flour.” 

“I will,” Cas said. 

They ended up with three bags of flour. “This stuff keeps forever,” Dean insisted, despite Cas pointing out an expiration date stamped on the top. 

“It’s a saying,” Dean said, waving his hand as he inspected a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. 

“It’s food poisoning,” Cas said. 

“You’ve never had that, have you?” Dean asked, mouth quirked into a grin.

“I have not,” Cas said. 

“And you’ve never had the flu, or conjunctivitis, or a broken bone.”

“Becoming human later in life negates many illnesses,” Cas said. 

“Hmm,” Dean hummed. “You’re missing out.”

“On being sick?”

“Yeah, man. I mean, it sucks. Like, it totally sucks. Major ass. But it’s got some good stuff. Chicken noodle soup, movie marathons, Vick’s.”

“Vick’s?”

“Oh man, I don’t even know what it is, really, but it’s like this petroleum jelly. But it smells very specific. Like, you’ll know it when you sniff it. And if you’re having trouble breathing just rub some onto your chest or your neck and BAM!, sinuses open right up.”

“Do we have some?” Cas asked. 

“At home? I don’t think so,” Dean said. “But we should pick some up. Kid’s gonna get a cold at some point, right?”

“I’m not sure Jack can contract human illnesses,” Cas said. “But we can.”

“Too true,” Dean said. “Alright, I’ll grab some. Uh, anything else you need?” 

“Toothpaste,” Cas said. “Not the mint kind. It’s disgusting.”

“I know, I know,” Dean said. “One time I made that mistake. Once!” 

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas said, eyes soft. “Just don’t do it again.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Alright, dear,” he said. 

Cas rolled his eyes. He followed Dean down the aisles and only rammed the cart into his ankles once. 

Cas got a phone call from Jack on the way home. 

“Dad, Evan wants to know if I can sleep over,” the boy said. 

“Tonight?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah. His mom can pick me up.”

“That’s fine,” Cas said. “I can get you in the morning.”

“Eileen is going to pick me up,” Jack said. “She wants to go to this new bakery and Sam doesn’t want to.” 

“Okay,” Cas said. “Then please come back with a full report on their pastries.”

“Okay!” Jack said. “Evan doesn’t live very far so I might be gone when you get back. Love you!”

“I love you, too,” Cas said. He hung up. 

“Kid gets to go get pastries with Eileen? Man, he has all the fun,” Dean said. 

“I believe the farmer’s market will have baked goods, too,” Cas said. 

“They better,” Dean said. “It’s not a goddamn farmer’s market without them.” 

They pulled into the gravel parking lot beside the park. Tents were erected all along the walkways, people milling between the stands. 

“So, here’s the plan,” Dean said, twisting in the front seat. “You’re going to go through every single one of these stalls. Shop, chat, whatever. Have fun. I’m going to find whoever’s selling that spicy grass water they call kombucha and try to buy the least disgusting flavor for Jack. I will probably fail, after which you swing by and pick me up at the butcher’s stand.”

“Okay,” Cas said. He stepped out of the car, feet crunching the gravel beneath his heels. Dean darted off down one of the paths, familiar with the market from the last time he’d been. Cas wandered into the park, eyes flitting between the stands. 

One of them, ‘Bee Kind’, waved him over. 

“Hello,” Cas said. The stand was bright yellow, covered in little patterns of honeycomb. 

“Hi,” the clerk said. She was an older woman, grey hair twisted into an elegant bun. “Looking for some honey?”

“Uh, yes,” Cas said. “I much prefer home-harvested.”

“That’s all we’ve got, sugar,” the woman said. “It’s nothing like the stuff on the shelves.”

“I know,” Cas said. “I find it hard to go back.”

“You collected honey before?” The woman asked.

“Yes,” Cas said. “I’m by no means a beekeeper, but I have always loved them.”

“Well, sounds like a beekeeper to me,” the woman said. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Annie.”

“Castiel,” Cas said. 

“Fancy name,” she said, smiling. “Have you ever wanted to be a beekeeper?”

“Yes,” Cas said. He rolled up his sleeve. “You could say that.”

Annie smiled. She rolled up her own. A bee was tattooed on the inside of her wrist. “Takes one to know one,” she said. “Well, if you’re in the area, I can show you my hives sometime.”

“That would be great,” Cas said, tugging his sleeve back down. 

“We can always use more beekeepers,” Annie said. “And more bees.”

“I can agree with that,” Cas said.

“You want any honey, sugar?”

“Please,” Cas said. 

“I’ve got regular, lavender, and this spicy one with chilis in it.”

“The spicy one, please. My, uh, Dean will like it.”

“He sure will. Everyone does.” Annie winked. She handed the jar to Cas. He pulled out his wallet. 

“Oh, no,” she said. “You’re going to be part of the bee community. First jar’s free, that’s the rules.”

“Thank you,” Cas said, rolling the jar in his palm. 

“Here,” Annie said. “Write your phone number down on this.” She handed him a business card. “I’ll give you a call and we’ll see about getting you out to the hives.”

“Thank you,” Cas said, scribbling down his phone number. 

“You’ve said that already,” Annie said, smiling. “Go on, I’m not the only good stand here.” 

Cas left with the honey pot, wandering the rows until he found Dean. Dean was animatedly talking to a man in a bloodstained apron. 

“Cas!” Dean said, waving him over. “Meet Dirk.”

“Hello,” Cas said, holding out his hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” Dirk said. “Your buddy here knows his way around his meat.”

A laugh punched out of Dean’s chest. “Yeah, well, nobody does prime rib right these days,” he said. He turned to Cas. “I got us a bunch of stuff for Saturday. I figure no one turns away a grill-out, especially if it’s not Frank’s fucking franks.” Dean’s lip curled up in distaste. 

“I didn’t realize they were such an insult,” Cas said. 

“They’re not bad if they’re all you’ve got. But man, we’ve got a real butcher now.” Dean smiled at Dirk, warm and welcoming. Cas’ stomach clenched. 

“I bought some hot honey,” Cas said. 

“Oh, you can make a great marinade with that,” Dirk said. “Especially if you’re slow-roasting. Meat melts right off the bone and it’s got a sugar-sweet crust.” 

“Man, where have you been all my life?” Dean asked. Cas’ stomach dropped. 

“We’ve got a storefront in Belleville,” Dirk said. “Stop by anytime.”

“Will do, man, will do,” Dean said. He shook Dirk’s hand. “Ready to go, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “I’m ready.”

Dean attempted to make conversation as they walked back to the car. Cas hummed and nodded. Apparently, it did not satisfy. 

“What’s up with you, man?” Dean asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno, I thought the farmer’s market might make you happy.”

“It was wonderful Dean, thank you for taking me.”

“Wow, that’s a rote answer if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I mean it. It was very nice. I met a beekeeper.”

“Oh yeah? Gonna check out the hives?”

“Yes, actually. She invited me over.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“Yes. I’d like to get some hives.” Cas thumbed over his tattoo. Dean’s eyes glanced down at the movement of his hand. 

“That’s cool,” Dean said. Cas heard him swallow. They did not speak for the rest of the drive. 

They unloaded the groceries in near-silence, too, only exchanging words like “pass me that” or “did you get the bag from the backseat, too?”. Cas watched Dean unload the packets of meat he bought from the butcher, stacking them carefully in the freezer. His tongue slipped. 

“You would make a handsome couple,” he said. He ground his jaw. His chest ached. 

Dean whirled around, nearly hitting his head on the freezer door. “Huh? Who?”

“You. And the butcher,” Cas said. “You seemed to ‘hit it off.’”

Dean laughed hollowly. “I said that about you and Howard, and that guy’s got a wife.” 

“It doesn’t make it untrue,” Cas said. 

Dean’s jaw flexed. His lips curled into a half-smile. “What, you’ve got a crush on your tattoo artist?”

“No.”

“Then why --”

“I was referring to you and the butcher,” Cas said. 

“Me? Have a crush on him? No, I’m not -- I wouldn’t --” Dean stammered. His forehead creased. 

“Dean, you don’t have to hide from me,” Cas said. 

“I’m not hiding. I just don’t like him like that.”

“Alright,” Cas said. “I just don’t want you to miss out.”

“On what? Dating? Yeah, because my last attempt was so successful.”

“I believe I am the one who ruined our time at the bar.”

“The bar? Fuck, man, I’m not talking about that.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Please don’t make me say it, Cas.” Dean’s eyes were screwed shut. He looked in pain. Cas’ stomach dropped. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cas said, trying to parse out what Dean might be trying to say. 

“Whatever,” Dean said. “I, uh, I’m gonna make some coffee. You want any?” His hand came up, running through the short strands of his hair. The fluorescent light glinted off the whitening scar on the side of his palm. 

“Dean.” Cas’ chest ached. His stomach dropped. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Really, Cas? Feels like you should.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m not gonna -- I can’t, Cas.”

“Why not?”

“Because it fucking sucked, alright? Because I didn’t deserve that.”

Cas saw Dean stumbling into his room, eyes red-rimmed, heart pounding. I didn’t deserve that, he said. He collapsed into Cas, chest heaving. I didn’t deserve that. Don’t say that again. Please don’t say that again. Cas held him until his sobs subsided, until he wrenched himself out of Cas’ arms and stormed down the hallway, letting light spill into Cas’ room from his unclosed door. Dean had been angry. He had been upset. He had rejected Cas’ love, he didn’t want to speak of it again. But he still let Cas be in his life. That was okay. That could be enough. Cas could love him from a distance. 

“Hey!” Dean said, hand around Cas’ cheek. They were sitting on the floor. Cas was crying. “Hey, come on, man, come back. Now’s not the time, alright? I’m pretty fucked up too. I need you, Cas. Come on, you gotta help me.” 

Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist, held it in place. “Dean,” he panted. He looked around. “I’m so -- I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean said. He patted Cas’ arm. “Just another panic attack.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said again. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Cas said. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Dean said, looking away. 

“I never meant to burden you with my love,” Cas said. “It was selfish to think things wouldn’t change. That I wouldn’t weigh you down with my feelings.”

“What?” Dean asked. His eyes filled with tears again. “What are you saying?”

Cas upset Dean. It was evident, in the way he hid his face with his hands. In the tensions in his shoulders. Cas upset him already. He supposed the damage was already done. 

“I love you, Dean. I am sorry.”

Dean stared at him. Tears spilled out of his eyes. His lips trembled. “Then why did you say you didn’t?” 

The air evaporated out of Cas’ lungs. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t you remember?” Dean asked. “I hauled you out of the Empty and all you could say was ‘I don’t love you.’” 

Cas saw Meg, taunting him with his funeral cloth. Balthazar, taunting him with wings. Naomi, threatening him. And Dean. 

“You weren’t real,” Cas said. His body got hot. His chest heaved. “You weren’t. It...it used you against me.”

“I was real,” Dean said. “I got you, Cas. Of course I got you. But you told me you didn’t love me and...that fucking sucked.”

There, on the floor of the kitchen, sobbing into the sleeve of his shirt, Cas looked at Dean. 

“I love you, Dean.” 

Dean’s face broke into a grin. Even through the red skin of his cheeks and the tears that welled beneath his eyes, he smiled. He had never looked quite so beautiful. 

“I love you too, Cas.”

Dean’s hand was on his cheek. He was not comforting him through a panic attack. His smell was all around Cas, and not from using Dean’s shower. He was there, on the floor, and he kissed Cas. 

“I love you,” Dean said, words mumbled into Cas’ lips. “I fucking love you, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas gasped, hands grabbing at Dean’s shoulders. 

“Too fast?” Dean asked, pulling away. Cas shook his head. Dean leaned in, stopped by Cas’ hand pressing against his chest. 

“I want to show you my tattoos,” Cas said. 

“You don’t -- you don’t have to. Not because of this.” Dean’s eyes flicked down to Cas’ mouth. 

“I know. But if you are going to claim you love me, as I am now, you need to see me.” 

Dean’s pupils dilated. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He wiped his eyes with his hands. “Uh, how do you --”

“Upstairs,” Cas said. 

“Okay,” Dean said. Cas helped him to his feet, gripping his hand and leading him up the stairwell. 

Dean shut Cas’ bedroom door behind them. He shifted on his feet. “So, uh --”

“I have eight tattoos,” Cas said. He stood in front of Dean, just before his bed. Dean leaned back against his door. 

"Wow, that's a lot." 

"I wasn't aware there's a limit."

"There isn't."

"You know my position, Dean. If I have to have a human body -"

"- you might as well enjoy it. I know, Cas," Dean said, smiling. 

“You already know about some.” 

“Yeah, uh, warding on your side, anti-possession on your thigh.” 

“Yes. But the first one I got, after my return, was this.” Cas pushed the left sleeve of his shirt up, past his elbow, bending his arm to show the outer bone. 

Dean’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. 

“Can I?” He asked. Cas nodded.

Dean stepped right in front of Cas, fingers gently moving Cas’ arm up. The angel blade he’d inked into it looked sharp, deadly. 

“Is that?” Dean asked, “a heartbeat?”

“Mine,” Cas said. Dean’s finger traced the jagged line down the center of the blade. 

“‘S beautiful,” he mumbled. His gaze flickered up to Cas. He stooped his head, bringing Cas’ arm up to his mouth. He kissed the tattoo. 

When his eyes opened he laughed. “Wait, is that?”

“A honey dipper, yes,” Cas said. “Honeycomb, too.” He tilted his arm again, letting Dean see the inner bone. 

“Wow, you really are into bees,” Dean said, eyes bright. His finger traced the honeycomb pattern behind the dripper. 

“I am very fond of them,” Cas agreed. Dean brought his mouth down again, lips pressing into the dripper’s bulb. 

“What’s next?” He asked. 

“My chest,” Cas said. He took his arm back, unbuttoning the top of his flannel. Dean stepped back. Cas continued to work down the shirt, unbuttoning it entirely. When his fingers moved to the hems Dean stopped him. 

“Wait,” Dean said. His fingers brushed the tail of Cas’ shirt. “Gotta get the warding, first,” he said. Cas blushed. “Can you, uh, lie back?” Dean asked. 

“Yes,” Cas said, shifting back so he could lie on his bed. Dean walked with him, bending when he got to the end of the bed. Cas pushed the tails of his shirt up, revealing the warding inked onto his ribs. Dean dropped his head, kissing it. 

“Okay,” Dean said. “Now show me the chest tat.” He smirked. 

Cas brought the open tails of his shirt to the sides, chest and abdomen exposed. Dean’s breath stuck in his throat. 

“Cas, is that...is that a crack?” He asked. Cas nodded. “Why…?” 

“It’s what everyone told me,” Cas said. “I have ‘a crack in my chassis.’ I believe they meant my heart.” 

The line Dean had seen shuddered down Cas’ chest, pushing inward with other jagged lines toward a cragged center. It looked like Cas’ chest was made of glass and someone had shattered the bit right above his heart. Cas looked up at the ceiling. This was his love, the only way he knew how to represent it. It was Dean, and Sam, and Eileen, and Claire, and Jack. He rebelled, he fell, he fell in love. The break was all that mattered. But Dean might think it was hideous. Or tragic. 

“It’s amazing,” Dean breathed. He rocked forward, lips landing on the center of the shatter. They traced the perimeter of it, snaking up the line he’d seen until his lips met Cas’. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Howard outdid himself.”

Cas laughed. “He’s a very good artist,” he said. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s incredible,” Dean said. “And it’s super fucking hot.” 

Cas kissed him again. He pulled away, whispering, “I got my back done next. But I’d first like to show you the one on my thigh.” 

“You just want me to kiss your ass,” Dean laughed. 

“Not right now,” Cas said. “Besides, I’m not talking about my anti-possession tattoo.” 

Dean’s eyes dilated again. “Oh, then you have to show me,” he said. 

Cas’ fingers worked open the button of his jeans, dragging down the zipper. Dean had focused back on the shattered heart, lips and tongue trailing along each of the black lines. Cas pushed his jeans down, kicking them off. Dean slunk down the bed. 

“Oh,” Dean said. “This is pretty.” 

“It’s you,” Cas said. Dean’s eyes shot back up to his. “The sunflower is the state flower of Kansas,” Cas explained. Dean smiled. He kissed the sunflower. “It’s for both you and Sam. The rhododendron is Washington’s.” 

“Jack,” Dean concluded, kissing it. “I assume Eileen is the clover?” 

“Yes,” Cas said. Dean kissed it. “The violet is Illinois.” 

“Claire,” Dean said. He kissed it. 

“And me,” Cas said. Dean looked up at him again. “I was not exactly born, but the day my life changed...that was in a barn outside of Pontiac.” 

Dean grinned. “Mine too, hot stuff,” he said. He kissed the violet again, sliding back up Cas’ body. “You gonna let me see the back piece?” 

Cas swallowed. 

“Hey, you don’t have to,” Dean said. “This has been amazing and all, but we can slow down.”

“This one doesn’t make me nervous to show you,” Cas said. “But it is personal.” 

“Okay,” Dean said. He shifted to the side, allowing Cas to pull his left arm out of his shirtsleeve, rolling over to expose his back. 

The wing was immaculate. It stretched from Cas’ spine down his right side, feathers wrapping around his right ribs. Each feather was shaded, almost puffing out from Cas’ back. 

“Gorgeous,” Dean said. His head dipped again, kissing along the top ridge of Cas’ wing, down the feathers’ shafts. “So beautiful, angel,” he said. 

“I’m not,” Cas said, face cheek pressed into the mattress, away from Dean. 

“Hey,” Dean said. “Look at me.” Cas turned his head. “I don’t care whether you bleed or sleep or eat. You’re you, Cas. You’re fine.” 

He bent down again, kissing the top of Cas’ shoulder. The ink continued down past his shirt. Cas shuddered. “You okay?” Dean asked. 

“Yes,” Cas said. “Just -- please don’t be upset,” Cas said. “This means a great deal to me.”

“Okay,” Dean said. 

Cas pulled his right arm out of his shirt. From the top of his shoulder, touching the edge of the feathers, all the way down to his forearm, he was tattooed. Entirely in black. Not a sliver of skin peeked through. 

“Cas,” Dean said. “Is this...is this the Empty?”

“Yes,” Cas said. He looked down at his arm, blacked out by ink. “I don’t want to forget it. To die -- for Jack, for you -- it is one of the most significant things I have ever done.” 

Dean’s eyes raked up and down Cas’ arm, looping around the drip marks inked into Cas’ forearm and back up to his shoulder. Cas watched his face, looking for signs of disgust. Dean’s eyes were wide. His jaw hung open. He reached for Cas’ hand, bringing his arm up. Dean placed a single kiss in the crook of Cas’ elbow. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Dean said. 

“I know most people wouldn’t want to remember it,” Cas said. “I understand if you think it’s ugly.”

“No,” Dean said. “No, Cas. It’s just.” He swallowed, eyes flicking from Cas’ arm to his eyes. “I’m just so fucking glad you came back.” His hand crept up, snaking through Cas’ hair, bringing his face into his neck. Cas’ arms wrapped around Dean, fingers scratching at Dean’s flannel. 

“I’ll always come back,” Cas said. 

“I’ll always get you,” Dean promised. 

Cas tugged at Dean’s shirt. “I suppose I’m a bit underdressed,” he said. Dean’s hands were warm on his bare back. 

“Or I’m overdressed,” Dean said. He laughed, then pulled away, bringing Cas’ face up to his for another kiss. Cas’ tongue swiped at the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean pulled back. 

“Are you alright?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I am. Trust me, I really am. But, uh, I think you should put your shirt back on,” he said. 

Cas’ eyes dropped. “I see. I understand,” he said, picking up his shirt. Dean’s brow furrowed. 

“Wait. Sorry. What do you understand?” He asked. “Because I’ve had enough miscommunication for one day.”

“You don’t like my tattoos,” Cas said. “You’d prefer not to see them.”

Dean laughed. Cas glared at him. “No, sweetheart,” Dean said. “I fucking love your tattoos. Might like ‘em a little, uh, too much, if you know what I mean.” His cheeks turned red “I, uh, I think we should cool off for a second, though. Get something to eat.”

“Oh,” Cas said. He righted the sleeves. “That’s fine.” 

Dean’s hand fell on the garment. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind a tee shirt,” he said.

Cas grinned. “I can put on a tee shirt,” he said. He stood. Dean watched him walk past his dresser and out of the room. 

“Cas?” He called. Cas came back a moment later, Dean’s Def Leppard shirt covering his torso. Dean’s jaw dropped open. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He grabbed for Cas, who sat back down on the bed. Dean’s arms were around him in an instant, grabbing at his back and hips. 

“Dean,” Cas said. “You said we were eating.” Dean kissed him again.

“I know,” Dean said. “Okay, okay,” he said, releasing Cas. “You put on some pants, I’m gonna get some grub going.”

Cas kissed him, chastely, walking back from Dean, turning to his dresser. Cas heard another kiss behind him, looking over his shoulder to see Dean bringing his thumb from his lips to Cas’ thigh, rubbing circles into his anti-possession tattoo. 

“Can’t forget it,” Dean mumbled. He stood, stepping past Cas and going down the stairs. Cas heard him getting pots out. He pulled sweatpants up over his boxers, tossing his jeans and flannel into the hamper. He padded down the stairs after Dean, who had set out a box of macaroni and a few blocks of cheese. 

“Hello,” Cas said. Dean looked up, eyes bright. 

“Hey,” he said. “Macaroni and cheese, what do you think? Nice and rich, right?”

“Sounds great, Dean,” Cas said. He rubbed his thumb into his palm, watching Dean skate around the kitchen, sure-footed. 

“So, uh,” Dean started, grabbing a saucepan. “You love me.”

“I do,” Cas said. “And you love me.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, smiling. “So, how do you want to play this?”

“Play this?”

“You know, like, am I your boyfriend?” 

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“I asked you first.”

“Dean.”

Dean stared resolutely into his saucepan. His earlier bravado had all but evaporated. Cas rolled his eyes. His heart swelled. 

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend,” Cas said. 

“Oh,” Dean said, frowning. 

“I think it’s a juvenile term,” Cas said. “Jack could have a boyfriend. But he’s also a child.” 

“Oh,” Dean said. “Uh, what term do you like?”

“I’ve heard people call each other ‘partner.’”

“Partner?” Dean grinned. “Yeah, uh, I could be your partner, partner,” he dropped his voice into a southern accent, pretending to tip a cap. 

“I don’t want to regret this,” Cas said. Dean’s eyes glanced up, nervous and wide, softening when he saw Cas smiling. 

“I don’t know what in tarnation you could be talking about,” he teased, grating cheese into the saucepan. 

“Do you want to be my partner, Dean?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah, Cas.” 

“I should warn you, I’m not particularly experienced in relationships.”

“I know,” Dean said. “It’s cool. We’ll figure it out.” He smiled. “How, uh, how do you want to tell people? Do you want to tell people?”

“Why wouldn’t we tell people?” Cas asked. 

“I dunno, some people just like to keep things to themselves...especially when it’s new, when they could break up.” 

“I don’t plan on leaving, Dean.”

“Well, neither do I.”

“Then we’re telling everyone. Jack first, though, since he lives here, too.” 

Dean’s hand tightened around a block of parmesan. “Think the kid’s gonna be okay with it?” He asked. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

“Jack will be alright,” Cas said. “As long as you both try to be good to one another. Will you do that?” He levelled Dean with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah, man. Absolutely.” 

“Then I think things will be fine.”

Dean nodded. “You want to? Or should we do it together?” 

“I’ll tell him,” Cas said. “When he comes home tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “I can, uh, call Sam and Eileen after that. And, uh, Jody and all them.”

“I’ll tell Claire,” Cas said. 

“Okay,” Dean said. He laughed. “Kinda feels like we’re announcing our engagement.”

“Is this too much?” Cas asked. 

“No, uh, it’s, uh, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t --” Dean cut himself off. 

“Haven’t?” Cas squinted.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “I’ll ask you about it later.” He nodded, chin angling to bring Cas closer. Cas walked around the island, stopping by Dean’s side. Dean pressed a kiss to his lips. Cas moved around Dean, looping his arms around Dean’s waist, forehead pressed to the dip of Dean’s spine. 

“Cas?”

“Mm?”

“I gotta get to the stove.”

“Mm,” Cas hummed. He shuffled back, arms still wrapped around Dean. 

“Really?”

“Mm.” 

“Okay,” Dean said, swinging his legs wide and dragging Cas between the island and the stove. Cas felt Dean’s ribs swelling with each breath. 

“Oh,” Cas said, shifting back. “I didn’t get yours.”

“Huh?” Dean asked. 

Cas kissed his fingertips, snaking them under the collar of Dean’s shirt, resting them over his tattoo. Dean grumbled. 

“Thought you hated that,” he said. Cas frowned. 

“It’s not to my taste,” he said. 

“Not like your super-cool tattoos,” Dean said. He frowned. 

“No,” Cas said. “It’s yours.”

“Wow, good for me,” Dean griped.

“Dean,” Cas said. He stepped back, standing to Dean’s side, watching him stir the sauce. “I wouldn't pick flames,” he said. “I suppose that does not come as a surprise. So, no, I don't want to showcase it on my body. But I will always be grateful that it protects you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said. He rolled his eyes. 

“Dean,” Cas said, again. He smiled. “You once told me that ‘tattoos are hot.’ Don’t think for one second that, just because the design is not to my liking, I think you’re worse for it. I do not. I think you are very, very beautiful. Tattoo included.” 

Dean’s face got red again. “Yeah, okay,” he said. Cas cupped his jaw. 

“Do not doubt me on this,” he said. Even the tips of Dean’s ears blushed.

“Alright, Cas,” he said. “You think I’m hot.”

“Yes. I want you very badly,” Cas said. Dean choked on his own saliva. 

“Wow, uh, okay,” he said. “Let’s uh, let’s get some dinner, and then some...action,” he said, smirking. Cas rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t think so,” Cas said.

“Oh,” Dean said. “Uh, I didn’t mean to, uh, pressure -- or --”

“Dean.” 

“Hm?”

“We don’t have anything. Unless you have condoms and lubricant?”

“Uh...fuck, no, I don’t.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, damn it, Cas, we were at the grocery store earlier.”

“I didn’t know you loved me then.”

“Oh and that’s my fault?”

“No. But it’s not mine, either.” 

“You’re right, you’re right,” Dean said, waving a hand. “It’s the economy’s.”

Cas squinted. “What?”

“It’s a joke.”

“It’s not funny.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Out of everyone on the planet I had to fall in love with you.” 

“Yes,” Cas said, smiling. “You did. I’ll put the water on.”

They watched a movie that evening, one of the few Westerns Dean had yet to show Cas. Usually, they sat on opposite ends of the couch. Instead, Cas leaned back against Dean’s chest, Dean’s thumb rubbing circles into Cas’ bicep, thumb tucked under the cuff. Cas rated it the best of them yet. 

He yawned as the credits rolled. 

“Sleepy?” Dean asked. 

“Yes,” Cas said. “It’s been quite a day.”

“That it has,” Dean said. “You gonna get ready for bed?”

Cas yawned again, nodding. He stood up, out of Dean’s embrace, padding out of the living room and up the stairs. He heard Dean cleaning up the kitchen as he brushed his teeth. 

Dean knocked on the doorway of his bathroom when he was applying lotion to his tattoos. Cas’ shirt was off, his pant leg pushed up. 

“Whoo,” Dean whistled. “Warn a guy, next time,” he said, smiling. 

“Dean, we live together, you’re going to see my tattoos quite often.”

“I sure hope so,” Dean said. “Want me to get your back?” 

“Please,” Cas said, holding out the lotion. Dean scooped a bit into his hand, motioning for Cas to turn around. Cas felt Dean swipe the cold cream down the length of his back, his palm rubbing it in. 

“You, uh, you’re welcome to sleep in my room,” Dean said. “Just sleep. No expectations. If you want.”

“That’s nice, Dean,” Cas said. “But yours is the guest room. If we’re going to sleep together, it makes more sense that you come to mine.”

“Oh, okay,” Dean said. “Am I, uh, invited?”

“Yes,” Cas said. Dean’s hands slipped down to his waist, urging him to turn around. 

“So, we’re really doing this?” Dean asked, a smile gracing his lips. 

“I’d like to,” Cas said. 

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said. 

Cas watched Dean brush his teeth. He watched him strip off his old flannel, changing into sleepwear. He watched him climb into the far side of the bed. He watched Dean lean toward him, kissing him goodnight. He watched Dean’s chest rise and fall, an arm slung over his waist, as Dean fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Castiel left the shop fewer than two hours after he’d entered. His ribs were tender, but the skin was bandaged well. His wallet was almost empty, just a few measly dollars that he didn’t know how to stretch. 

The street was hot and crowded. People pushed past him, not bothering to give him a second look. Did humans always feel this hungry? Or was this just a consequence of his vessel not being fed? His body, really, since he fell. 

Castiel walked away from the shop, down the street, and into the crowd. His goal was clearly set before him: survive. 

Cas shook. “I’m dead,” he groaned. “I’m -- Dean this isn’t real, I’m -- don’t touch --”

Strong arms wrapped around him. He jerked against them, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Cas,” Dean said, “I’m here. You’re alive. This, us, it’s real. It’s okay.” 

“What have you done to me?” Cas moaned. 

“Shh,” Dean soothed. His grip around Cas tightened. He pressed a kiss to the back of Cas’ neck. “It’s a nightmare, sweetheart, it’s your brain playing tricks on you.”

Cas quieted. He cried. Dean kissed the junction of his shoulder and his neck next, following the line of a feather he knew to be inked just under the skin. 

“We’re here,” Dean said. “In bed. You’re okay.”

“I’m dead,” Cas said. “I’m dead.”

“No, sweetheart,” Dean said. “You’re not.” 

Cas quieted again. He jerked again, tugging against Dean’s arms. Then his whole body slackened. Dean kissed his shoulder again. 

“Dean?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah, Cas, I’m here.”

“Did I?” 

“Yeah, angel. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay, Cas. I don’t mind.” 

“Go back to sleep, Dean.”

“Not yet,” Dean said. “Let’s just be awake a bit longer.”

“You don’t have to watch over me,” Cas said. 

“I know.”

“You should sleep.”

“I should make sure you’re okay.” 

“Dean.” 

“Come on, we don’t have any plans in the morning. Kid’s not gonna be back until lunch. We can get up in the middle of the night.”

“You want to get up?”

“Or lie here.”

“What would we do?”

“I don’t know, walk down to the docks or something.”

“The docks?”

“Yeah, look at the stars.” 

“Okay.”

“Yeah? Okay, let me up.” Cas realized he was holding onto Dean’s arm, wrist clutched between his hands. He released him. Dean slid out from behind him. Cas saw him hold out a hand. He took it. Dean led him downstairs. They tugged on boots and coats. Cas grabbed a blanket from the couch. 

The night air was cold. They walked down to the docks, hand in hand. 

“Water looks black,” Dean said. The moon reflected off the lake. 

“Some lakes look like that all the time,” Cas said. “In Canada. And Florida.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. The water’s perfectly fine. It has to do with the ground it’s over, or the minerals within.”

“Wouldn’t want to fall in one.”

“Nor would I, but no more so than I would any lake. The water’s safe.” 

“Cool,” Dean said. He threw the adirondacks’ cushions onto the dock. “We should go out to Florida sometime.”

“We should?”

Dean sat down on the dock, arms open for Cas. Cas settled between them. Dean tugged the blanket around them, chin hooked over Cas’ shoulder. 

“Why not? Take a little vacation. We can take the kid to Disney.”

“He would like that.” 

“Or we send him with Claire for a little. Some bonding time. You and I could go down.” 

“What would we do? Go to Disney?”

“Maybe,” Dean said. “Or the beach. Sit in the sand. Eat food from a guy with a cart. Get a sunburn.”

“They aren’t good for tattoos,” Cas said. 

“Oh,” Dean said. “Well, we can put sunscreen on them.”

“Okay,” Cas said. Dean’s hand snaked under Cas’s coat, ice cold fingertips on the skin of his stomach. Cas breathed into it. 

“Your turn to tell me a story,” Dean said. 

“I don’t know if I have any good ones,” Cas said. 

“I know that’s not true,” Dean said. “Come on, tell me something.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Whatever, Cas. Something...something happy.” 

“Hmm,” Cas hummed. “I watched a California redwood grow, once,” he said. “It started from a sapling, in what is now Sequoia National Park. It grew steadily for years, uninterrupted by the terrain around it. It avoided its leaves being eaten by animals. It wasn’t struck by lightning, or crushed under a falling tree. It grew tall and strong. And then a wildfire broke out. And it ran through the forest, lighting everything aflame. I couldn’t do anything, this was God’s plan, it was supposed to happen. But I watched the tree consumed in smoke and I thought it couldn’t be right. That the tree should live. And so I reached out to it. The smoke cleared and it was still standing. Its bark was charred, but it was alive. It wasn’t nearly three hundred feet that it is today. It wasn’t too big for you to wrap your arms around. But it survived. It was the only one. If you saw it today you wouldn’t know about the fire. Nature has a way of recovering with brilliant resilience. But it happened. And it should have taken that tree. I did not let it die. I am happy I did that.”

Cas felt Dean smile into his shoulder. “Always been a rebel, huh?” He muttered. He kissed Cas’ shoulder. “I’m glad you saved the tree, too. Maybe after Florida we head west? See it together?”

“I’d like that,” Cas said. “I haven’t had time to visit.”

“Then we’ll go,” Dean said. “We’ll bring everyone on a camping trip. And we’ll pitch a tent right at the base, and you can say hello again.” 

“I don’t think the tree will remember me,” Cas said, laughing. 

“You don’t know that,” Dean said. “You pulled it out of hell. Hard to forget a guy like that. I should know.” 

Cas nearly knocked him over twisting in his arms. He breathed in the air he’d knocked out of Dean’s lungs, kissing him. 

“I love you,” Cas said. “Thank you for staying up.”

“I love you, too,” Dean said. “But you’re making coffee in the morning.” 

“Gladly,” Cas said, Dean’s lip between his own. 

“Okay,” Dean said, laughing. “Can we go back to bed now? We don’t have to fall asleep but my ass is freezing.”

“We can go inside.” 

Dean’s arm was cold when it wrapped around Cas again. They’d tugged the quilt from the guest room on top of their bed. It was warm when Cas woke up, still slung around his middle. 

Jack bounded through the front door with a paper bag in hand. “Dad!” He called, racing toward the back door, “I brought food!” 

Dean and Cas were in the garden, Dean weeding the vegetables, Cas staking some of the taller plants. They looked up, then at each other. 

“Hello, Jack,” Cas said. 

“Hey, kiddo, Eileen already take off?” Dean asked. 

Just then, Eileen stepped up next to Jack, waving. Cas and Dean waved back. They looked at each other again. 

“Uh, Eileen,” Dean said, motioning to get her attention, “I have a book I think you might like. Come with me.” He stood, brushing dirt from his knees, heading up the stairs and taking Eileen deeper into the house. 

“Could you shut the door, Jack?” Cas asked. Jack did, plopping down on the back steps. 

“Want to try a chocolate croissant?” Jack asked. “They’re so good, and Eileen bought some for all of us.”

“That’s very kind of her,” Cas said, moving to sit next to his son. Jack passed over the pastry. Cas ripped the end of it off, chewing it over. “It’s very good,” he said. 

“I thought so! I know Dean will like it, it’s all butter and bread and chocolate,” Jack said. 

Cas swallowed. “Jack, have you liked having Dean back?”

“Oh,” Jack said, “yes. Things are much better with him here. Everything is louder and dinner tastes much better and you smile more.” 

“But do you like having him around?” Cas pressed. “Do you feel safe? Comfortable?”

Jack furrowed his brow, thinking it over. “I do,” he concluded. “I did some pretty terrible things, back before. I don’t want to do those ever again, and I don’t think I’ll ever have to. Dean did some terrible things too, but I don’t think he’ll ever have to do them again, either. If I can get better, I think he can too.” 

“Okay,” Cas said, heart unclenching. “We, um, we talked last night. About him staying here. With us.” He took a breath. “Dean wants to stay. He loves me.” 

“I know,” Jack said, voice easy, like it was obvious. 

“I love him, too, Jack,” Cas said. Jack’s eyes widened. 

“You do?”

“I do. I never stopped. Do you remember what you told me?”

“What time?”

“When you came to my room, before we moved here. You told me that if I loved Dean, I would say it. I didn’t say it, but only because I thought he didn’t want to hear it. I was wrong.” 

“Did you say it last night?”

“I did.”

“Wow,” Jack said. “Cool.” 

“Cool?” Cas repeated, laughing. 

“Yeah. Now it can be Sam and Eileen and you and Dean.” 

“You’re alright with that? You are my first priority, Jack. He doesn’t have to live here. I don’t have to see him.” 

“I want you to,” Jack said. “I like Dean, too. And he likes me.” 

“He does,” Cas confirmed. 

“Then I want him to stay here. Is he going to stay in his room?”

“Uh, no. He’s going to sleep in my room.”

“Oh, good. Then can I have some friends from basketball over next week? Evan can stay in my room but we need another bed for George and Manny.” 

“Of course, Jack,” Cas said. “You seem to like Evan quite a lot.” 

“Please don’t,” Jack said, “I already got teased enough by Eileen.”

Cas laughed at that. He tore off more of his croissant. “We should rescue her. I wanted to speak to you about Dean and I, so she’s probably wrapped up in Dean pretending to have a book recommendation.” 

Eileen was indeed wrapped up in a fake recommendation, partway through Dean trying to explain why she would appreciate Michael Connelley’s legal thrillers despite her own tastes tending toward romance novels and contemporary dramas. 

“It’s really...legal,” Dean signed. “You’re Irish. So I thought you might like learning more about American law.” His jaw ticked. 

The back door swung open, Cas and Jack stomping inside. Dean and Eileen looked over, each with a look of relief on their faces. 

“Hello,” Cas signed. “I’m sorry, Eileen, I hate to kick you out, but would you mind giving us some time alone?”

“No problem!” Eileen signed, walking over to kiss Cas’ cheek as she grabbed her coat. “Bye!” 

She was down the front stairs before Jack even waved goodbye. Dean looked over at Cas and Jack. His face was tight. 

“Dad said you love him,” Jack said. Dean nodded, jaw ticking again. “And he loves you.” Dean nodded again. “And you’re staying here.” Nod. “Okay. I brought you a croissant.” 

“Huh?” Dean asked. 

“From the bakery. It’s chocolate.” Jack held out the bag. Dean took it, hesitant. 

“Thank you,” he said. He looked down. “I do love your Dad,” he mumbled. “I love you, too, kid.” He smiled at Jack. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Jack said. “Can I give you a hug?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Dean said. Jack stepped up to him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s tense frame. Cas watched Dean relax. Jack stepped back. 

“Will you make falafel again?” He asked. Dean’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Didn’t think you were that big of a fan,” he said. 

“I wasn’t expecting it to be soft on the inside,” Jack explained. “I think I’d like it more now that I know.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “I can do that.” 

“Okay!” Jack said. “I’m going to unpack my things.” He grabbed the duffel he’d dropped by the door, heading upstairs. 

Dean waited a breath, listening as Jack’s footsteps creaked toward his room, before dropping his shoulders. He held out his arms. Cas stepped into them, letting Dean bury his nose in Cas’ shirt. 

“We get this,” Dean said. “We get a kid, and a house, and…” he trailed off. 

“We do,” Cas said. His fingertips ran up and down Dean’s spine. Dean shivered. 

“I’m gonna make so much falafel,” Dean muttered. 

“I’m sure Jack will appreciate it.” 

“And whatever you want, dude. Like, I’m Guy Fieri and the Barefoot Contessa all in one, here. Whatever you want.” 

“Whatever you make will be fine.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “But tell me if you ever have a request.” 

“I’d like to kiss you again,” Cas said. Dean pulled his head back from Cas’ shoulder, meeting his eye. 

“You don’t have to request to do that,” he mumbled. 

“I love you,” Cas said. Dean smiled, lips still spread wide when Cas kissed him. Cas felt Dean’s mouth mold around his own, Dean’s hands pressing harder into Cas’ back. One of them slid around to Cas’ arm, running up and down his shirtsleeve, palming over the black ink. 

“Gross,” Jack said, walking over to the refrigerator and grabbing a kombucha. “You guys sound wet.”

Cas froze, too embarrassed to move. Dean burst out laughing, though. 

“Sorry, kiddo,” he said. “Didn’t mean for you to see that.” 

“It’s alright,” Jack said. “I might have a boyfriend soon and I’ll want to kiss him, too.” He walked back upstairs. 

Dean turned to look at Cas. “Did Jack just come out?” He whispered. 

“I’m not sure he’s old enough to understand the concept of being ‘in,’” Cas said. 

Dean squinted. “Is he old enough to have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t really know,” Cas admitted. 

“Huh,” Dean said. “We’ll ask Sam?” 

“We’ll ask Sam,” Cas agreed. Upstairs, Jack’s door shut. Dean smirked at Cas. 

“Guess the kid’s up there for a while,” he said. Cas squinted, head tilting. “Come on, angel,” Dean said. “Let’s pick up where we left off.” 

“Oh,” Cas said, “alright.” 

Dean kissed him in their living room, his son upstairs, their garden growing out back. 

“I’m thinking of getting another tattoo,” Cas said. He stared at the night-dark ceiling of his bedroom. 

“Oh?” Dean said, hand stilling from where it was tracing the lines of the tattoo on Cas’ heart. “What and where?” He started tracing again. 

“I want to honor my grace,” Cas said.

“Do you miss it?” Dean asked. He glanced up at Cas, one eye smushed into his pillow where he lay on his front. 

“Yes,” Cas said. “Often.” 

Dean tensed. “I’m really sorry, Cas,” he said. “I didn’t -- I didn’t know it was going to evaporate when I pulled you out of the Empty. Sam thought -- but last time, it didn’t, so I thought maybe --”

“I know,” Cas said. He looked at Dean. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You brought me back to Jack. To you. Our family. I could never wish that away, wish to be back in that place. Not for one moment. It was a sacrifice worth making.” 

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’m still sorry.”

“Of all the things I have sacrificed, Dean Winchester, my grace for this life is the easiest among them.” 

Dean nodded into his pillow. He leaned forward, lips pressing into the black ink of Cas’ bare arm. 

“I would like to honor it, though,” Cas continued. “The way I did my blade and my wings.” 

“Mm,” Dean hummed. “Do you have something picked out?”

“I have an idea,” Cas said. “I’m not sure Howard will agree to it.”

“What?” Dean asked. “Why not?”

“Well, he only tattoos the necks of people who are already heavily inked.” 

Dean’s hand stilled again. “You’re going to tattoo your neck?”

“I want to.” 

“With what?” Dean asked. Cas could see his furrowed brow in the low light. 

“I have an idea,” Cas repeated. 

“Oh, you’re not going to tell me?” Dean said, chuckling. “I see how it is.” 

“You didn’t know the others in advance,” Cas said, settling back into the bed. “I’d hate to interrupt the pattern.” 

“Of course,” Dean said. “Wouldn’t want that.” He kissed Cas’ arm again. “I think you will look damn sexy with a neck tattoo.” 

“Mm,” Cas hummed. “You think I look sexy now.” 

Dean laughed again. “Too true,” he said. “You could inspire a guy.” 

Cas looked down at Dean again. “Are you reneging on your oath not to get more tattoos?”

“Oh, no,” Dean said. “Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s your thing. But I’ve been thinking about piercings.” 

“Really?” Cas asked. 

“Well, Claire’s ear is super cool,” Dean said. “That, like, bar that cuts across it? It looks awesome.” 

“Claire looks very cool,” Cas agreed. “So you want to pierce your ears?”

Dean squirmed on the bed. “Yeah, man,” he said. “Maybe.” 

“Well,” Cas said, “Howard isn’t a piercer, but a piercer does work at Needlepoint.” 

“Yeah?” Dean asked. “Might have to ask about that.” 

“He could tell you their schedule tomorrow,” Cas said. “You could come with me to my next appointment. If he agrees to do my tattoo, that is.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Dean said. 

“Alright.”

“Okay.” 

“Are you going to bed, Dean?”

“Kinda already there.”

“To sleep, I mean.”

“Oh. Uh, not yet, I guess. Are you?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay.”

“Did you want to talk about something else?”

“No, uh, don’t have much else to say.”

“Alright.” 

They laid in bed a while longer. Cas eventually drifted off to sleep with Dean’s fingers dancing across his chest. 

“Yeah, alright,” Howard said. He smiled at Cas. 

“Really?” Cas said. “I don’t mean to insult you, I know your policy.”

“Listen,” Howard said. “That’s mostly for the eighteen-year-olds who want their girlfriend’s name or barbed wire or something. You’re an adult, Cas. You can get the tattoos you want.” He took a swig of his beer. 

“Thank you,” Cas said. “When should I come in?”

“Monday?” Howard asked. “You can have your early-morning slot back, if you want.”

“That would be perfect,” Cas said. “I’ll see you then.”

“I knew you couldn’t stop yourself,” Howard said. “You still had a little more story to tell.” 

Cas smiled. “I’m grateful to have a story that finally has a happy ending.”

“Speaking of,” Howard said, “looks like your guy is a hit with my wife.” 

Cas looked over at the grill, where Dean and Kim were wrapping ears of corn in tin foil. Kim said something that made Dean laugh, eyes crinkling up in that bright, happy way. 

“He has always been social,” Cas said. 

“That is so not true,” Sam said, walking down the steps, hand-in-hand with Eileen. “Dean’s an ass.” 

“Sam is his younger brother,” Cas explained. “Sam, this is Howard. Howard, Sam.” He motioned to Eileen. “Eileen, this Howard,” he signed. “Howard, this is Eileen.” 

“Oh,” Sam said. “Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand. 

“I have an older sister,” Howard said, shaking it. “It’s very nice to meet you, too. You as well, Eileen.”

“Thank you for making Cas even hotter than before,” Eileen said, winking. Howard laughed. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Sam said. “We, uh, we had an errand.” 

“There’s a marriage license in our trunk,” Eileen whispered. 

“Oh?” Cas asked. “Did you marry?” 

“Not yet,” Eileen said. “But maybe tomorrow.” She leaned over, kissing Sam’s cheek. He blushed. 

“Well, congratulations,” Howard said. He pointed to Kim. “I’ve been with my wife for a good long time now. It gets better every day.” 

“Well, we have to get to it pretty soon, otherwise Cas here will have us beat.” 

Eileen nodded. “Seriously, Cas, you moved in with Dean before you even started dating. I’m surprised you haven’t already popped the question,” she teased.  

“I wouldn’t,” Cas said, looking Sam right in the eye, “without asking you for his hand, first.” 

Sam burst out laughing. “As you should,” he said. “I’m going to get a drink,” he said. “You want anything?” The others waved him off. Cas watched him head over to the grill, shaking Kim’s hand and clapping Dean’s shoulder. 

“Eileen?” Claire asked, head poking out the back door. Cas tapped Eileen’s shoulder, pointing to Claire. 

“Hi!” Eileen said, “You must be Claire!” 

“Yeah,” Claire said. “Sorry, just, wanted to say hi. You, uh, you want to talk?” 

“Sure,” Eileen said. “Bye, boys.” She walked back into the house. 

“Claire,” Howard said. “Your daughter.” 

“Yes,” Cas said. “Jack did indeed convince her to stay.” 

“They both look so much like you,” Howard said. “You sure they aren’t blood?”

“It’s a very complicated story,” Cas said. 

“It always is with you,” Howard laughed. 

“Baby!” Kim shouted, getting the men’s attention. “Food’s done!” 

“I’ll get the kids,” Cas yelled. Dean threw him a thumb’s up. 

Inside, Claire and Eileen sat at the kitchen table, talking about some boots Eileen thought Claire might like. Apparently, she’d modified them to hold a machete. Cas could hear the PlayStation running from the bottom of the stairs. Nevaeh and Desiree were cross-legged on Jack’s bed, painting their nails with his polish while Alexis and Jack sat on the floor, locked in a game of Mario Kart. 

“The food is ready,” Cas announced. 

“Okay,” all four kids responded. None of them moved. Cas waited a moment, then shut the door and headed downstairs. 

Eventually they all sat around the tables Dean and Cas had set up. They talked, mostly, eating during the lulls of conversation. Nevaeh and Desiree had never been to South Dakota, apparently, and Claire offered to host them for a weekend, promising to introduce them to the rest of Jody's girls. Jack and Alexis were the first to excuse themselves, racing around the side of the house to play a pickup game of basketball. Howard and Kim vacationed in Ireland, once, and Eileen trapped them in a conversation about all the places they went, prompting Sam to suggest they go to Ireland for their honeymoon, which prompted Dean to choke up when he heard Sam and Eileen had secured a license. Dean dug into his hot dogs, corn on the cob, and pie. He had put on weight, perhaps even more than he had lost. He was relaxed, no longer burning through calories running for his life or worrying himself sick. His body looked healthy. He looked beautiful. Cas watched him, feeling the warmth of the food in his stomach, Dean’s hand on his leg, and the afternoon sun on his face. 

“You can never tell Sam this, but if he and Eileen hadn’t agreed to wait until Monday to get married, I would have been seriously disappointed,” Dean said. His arm worked furiously, creaming together butter and sugar. 

“I know,” Cas said. “I’m glad they’re letting us be a part of this. But the cake can wait until after sunrise.” He yawned. The oven clocked blinked out 6:56 a.m. 

Dean glanced at him. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “But I can’t sleep. This cake isn’t baking itself. Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“I know,” Cas said. “It’s alright. I’ll just be extra early to my appointment.” 

Dean smirked. “You know, it’s rude to upstage the groom.”

“I don’t believe Sam will be threatened by me, a gay man dating his brother, when he attempts to wed.” 

“I’m just saying,” Dean said, “You don’t make it easy for him.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I am grateful you find me attractive,” he said. Dean’s cheeks reddened. In retrospect, Cas realized, he blushed quite often. 

“Mmhm,” Dean hummed. “Go get even hotter, Burt Reynolds,” he teased. 

Cas walked around the kitchen island, hand stilling Dean’s arm. Dean smiled at him. 

“I’ll see you after my appointment,” Cas said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean said. He leaned forward, kissing Cas deeply. 

"Make sure you get some breakfast," Cas said. 

"I will," Dean promised. "Once this bad boy takes a nap in the oven I'll make some pancakes for me and the kid."

"Blueberry, please, Dean. I don't care what you eat, but Jack doesn't need that much chocolate at eight a.m." 

"Yeah, but I'm the fun...parent," Dean said, testing the word. Cas shrugged. "...guy," Dean said. "Either way, you're the one who gets to convince him to eat whole wheat and bran. I'm the one who put whipped cream on French toast." 

"Mm," Cas hummed, "But there will already be cake today, and ice cream, and probably cookies, based on Garth's RSVP. Do you really think it's a good idea to add to that?"

"He's a growing boy, Cas," Dean teased, "but I'll make blueberry. No promises on withholding the whipped cream."

"Thank you," Cas said. "Make sure you eat some."

"I will," Dean said. "I'm okay." He looked down at his mixing bowl. "When, uh, when Sam first talked about him and Eileen branching off...I wasn't. You know that. Thought that I was really getting left behind. No one's fault but my own. Wouldn't have been the first time. But -- uh -- you letting me hang around? I'm fine, Cas."

"I'm not letting you hang around," Cas said. Dean frowned. "You live here, Dean. With me. And Jack. As long as you're willing to stay -- as long as we all work to stay -- you're just 'hanging around' your home." 

"Making myself breakfast," Dean said, quirking into a smile. 

"And eating it," Cas prodded. Dean nodded. Cas kissed his cheek. 

"I'll see you soon," he said. Dean nodded again. 

He felt the needle digging into the delicate skin of his neck. It was routine, him and Howard. Breathe in, breathe out. The pain was beautifully human. 

Sanitize, wrap. It was human to heal. 

He hugged Howard at the end of his appointment. “Congratulate your brother-in-law,” Howard said. “Sister-in-law, too.” 

“I will,” Cas said. 

“And, Cas, if I don’t get an invite to your wedding, I’m misspelling the next tattoo you get on purpose.” 

Cas laughed. “I will make sure you are invited,” he promised. “And I promise not to get Dean's name next.”

Howard laughed. “Good man," he said, "besides, if you don't play your cards right, you could end up with 'Dan'.” 

“I have no intention of doing that.”

“Then get on with it,” Howard said. “I’m free next Thursday, for the wedding.” He winked. 

Cas settled the bill, then settled into his car. He drove back home, picking up flower petals on his way over. It was an easy enough errand, and the drive back was quick. 

Sam and Eileen planned to marry at noon, giving everyone just enough time to throw together a party. It was a small affair, like they promised, with Dean, Cas, and Jack being their only guests at the ceremony. Claire, Alex, Patience, Jody, Donna, Garth, Bess, and their kids, as well as some of Eileen's friends, were coming in that evening for the reception, which promised lots of food, drinks, and dancing. 

The house had yet to be transformed, though. Sam paced through the kitchen, dressed in a suit. Jack sat on the island, legs swinging. 

“Hey,” he said, seeing Cas come up the porch steps. “Thanks for getting that.”

“It’s no worry,” Cas said. 

“Hi, Dad!” Jack said. He walked over to Cas, hugging him and letting just a little grace heal Cas’ tattoo. “Ooh, it looks so cool,” he said, grinning. 

“Thank you,” Cas said, peeling off the bandage. “Would you make sure Eileen is ready?”

“Sure,” Jack said. He bounded upstairs where Eileen had taken over the guest room to get ready. Sam replaced him, walking right up to Cas. 

“Congratulations,” Cas said. 

Sam pulled him into a hug, clapping his back before he pulled away. “Thanks,” Sam said, bending a bit. He smiled. “The tattoo does look cool, Cas. You’re going to make Dean’s eyes melt out of his head.” 

“That is not my intention,” Cas said. “I actively avoided letting him see my true form.”

Sam laughed. “Too late,” he said. “That right there? He’ll propose on the spot.”

“You are not the first to suggest that,” Cas said, frowning. 

“Why the face?” Sam’s eyes narrowed. "You don't like that idea?" His face hardened. 

“Oh, no,” Cas said. “But I believe it would be rude. Today is for celebrating yours and Eileen’s love.” 

Sam’s face relaxed again. “Oh,” he said. “Then, thanks.” He leaned in. “But don’t forget, Castiel, you’re human now. You hurt my brother, it’s a lot easier for me to hurt you in return.” 

“I understand,” Cas said. “I know Eileen has no siblings, so given her circumstance and this bonding ritual, I suppose it is only fair for me to threaten you with bodily harm should things sour in your own relationship.” 

Sam stood stock-still for a moment, then quirked his mouth into a smile. “Yeah,” he said, grinning wider. “Yeah, if I screw this up, you have permission to put me six feet under.” 

“Then it’s agreed,” Cas said, holding out his hand. Sam shook it. 

“Hey!” Dean said, calling from upstairs. “We ready?” 

“Ready!” Sam called. He looked nervous. 

“It will be fine, Sam,” Cas said. “Eileen loves you very much.” 

“Just didn’t think I’d get this, you know?” Sam said. “So, uh, kinda can’t believe it’s really happening.” 

“I know the feeling,” Cas said. “I’ll call when it’s your time.” 

Sam nodded, walking up the stairs. They’d agreed that Cas would officiate, since Jack was too young to be vested and Dean would likely cry through the ceremony. Sam and Eileen planned to walk in together, using the garden path as a makeshift aisle. 

Dean shuffled down the steps, clapping Sam’s shoulder as they passed each other. “Hey,” he said. “You ready?”

“Yes,” Cas said. 

“Uh, before we get going, can I see it?” Dean asked, motioning to Cas’ neck. Cas nodded, tilting his chin up. 

“Oh,” Dean said. Cas didn’t look down. This was another of his tattoos for himself. He didn’t require Dean’s approval. Still, when Dean let out a shaky exhale before pressing his lips to Cas’ throat, Cas’ heart soared. “It’s beautiful,” Dean said. “I’m so sorry about your grace, Cas,” he said. 

Cas looked down at that, meeting Dean’s eye. “I told you,” he said, “you have nothing to feel sorry about. I would happily give it up for this.” 

Dean nodded, eyes watery. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. 

“Of course.” 

Dean pressed against him desperately, first kissing his lips, then his cheek, then bending to kiss his throat again. He stood, clearing his throat. “Okay,” he said, “Let’s get these crazy kids married.” 

Cas smiled. He took Dean’s hand. “One minute!” Dean called up the stairs. It was Jack’s cue to come down, ready to walk right in front of Sam and Eileen, scattering the flower petals Cas had brought. 

Dean and Cas walked down the back steps, turning at the end of the garden path. Jack came down after them, scattering flower petals before standing at Cas’ other side. Eileen and Sam followed, arms linked, smiling widely, hands already twitching in anticipation of signing their vows. 

Cas took a breath, looking at his son, his friends, Dean. He let the air fill his lungs, so human and vulnerable. He let it flow back out, past the words inked onto his throat -- why he would be able to stand with his family in his backyard, why he would share meals and nightmares and futures with them.

"You look real good like this," Dean said. He nudged Cas' shoulder. 

"I have been told," Cas said. 

"Yeah, by me," Dean said, words garbled by the granola bar he was eating. "You've got a human body and sweetheart, I enjoy it."

Sunlight shone down on his face, highlighting the freckles on his cheeks, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hair around his temples that was lightening to blonde. Cas expected it to whiten in the next months. He could not wait to see it.

Dean knocked his shoulder again. "I need to get you in shorts and tee shirts more often."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "This is a practical outfit, Dean," he said, gesturing to the outfit he wore.

"I know, I know," Dean said. "Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it. The ink looks amazing, babe."

"Thank you," Cas said. He felt his heart swell, as it always seemed to do when Dean complimented his tattoos.

"So, which one is it?" Dean asked, head swiveling. 

"It should be just up here," Cas said. 

"Dad!" Jack called, having raced ahead of them. "I think I found it!" He was pointing. 

Cas stopped. Dean glanced over at him. He was stock-still, staring. 

"Cas?" Dean asked. 

Cas swallowed. The air was caught in his chest. 

"Cas?" Dean repeated. "Is this panic?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't -- I don't think so," he said. "I don't know."

"Okay," Dean said, stepping in front of Cas' view. "Big breath?" 

Cas took one, letting Dean squeeze his hand while he held it in his lungs. 

"Better?" Dean asked. Cas nodded. It was better. He had been better. Bad days were still common for all of them, but they were better at managing them. Nightmares were less distinct, panic attacks shorter. Dean's appetite was as stable as it had ever been, and Jack rarely lashed out. Sam and Eileen were better, too, learning to live as a normal couple in their new condo. 

"I'd like to see it closer," Cas said. Dean smiled, nodding. 

"Of course," he said, stepping aside. 

Cas strode forward. When his hand touched the bark of the tree, he broke into a wide smile. 

"Hello," he said. "I'm Castiel. You may not remember me, but I remember you." 

Wind rustled the tree's leaves, way up above Cas' head. 

"I think it remembers you," Jack said, eyes glowing. "It feels happy." 

Cas smiled wider. Dean's hand slipped into Cas' free one, squeezing. 

"Told you it couldn't forget," he said, leaning into Cas' space. 

"You did," Cas said. 

"It's definitely happy," Jack concluded, stepping back from the tree. 

"Alright, Mister Lorax," Dean called, "go run around." Jack did, taking off to explore the forest. 

Cas pressed his hand more firmly to the bark, trying to seek out the tree's joy. 

"I can't feel it," he said, frowning. 

"I can," Dean said. 

"You can?" 

"Yeah," Dean said, low to Cas alone. "I can feel how happy it is to see you. Because it knows you saved it for one reason. Same reason you became a father, a gardener, a husband, a human." He swayed as he listed things, swinging Cas' hand.

Dean tapped his own throat, tracing it with his fingers like the letters were written into his own skin: "For love."