Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gift shop to the right of the hospital’s front doors was filled with stuffed animals, get-well cards, and flower bouquets. Castiel reasoned this was where visitors bought things to give to the family members and friends who were hospitalized. He had glimpsed several such offerings through the open doorways he passed by on his way to and from Dean’s room.

“What is the purpose of giving these to the residents of the hospital?” Castiel asked the cashier. “They do not aid in recovery from illness or injury. Medicine and surgical procedures are better suited for that task.”

The woman pushed her daisy-patterned headband farther back over her hair, blonde and fine like corn silk.

“They don’t make the people get better, but they make them feel better. Giving a gift to someone shows that you care, that you’re thinking about them, praying for them. They give them something to focus on other than the pain or the illness.”

Castiel thought about Dean, lying in bed in Room 416 on the fourth floor of this hospital after his disastrous interrogation of Alastair. Injured and defeated and farther from trusting Castiel than ever. Castiel had felt shame before. The common assumption that angels had no emotions was false. Angels could feel, but they were granted only the emotions deemed necessary for their optimal performance—pride, anger, contempt, awe, and shame. The last two were very effective in cultivating obedience. But the shame that Castiel felt over his callous use of Dean as if he were nothing more than a weapon was different this time. Deeper, sharper. Castiel wanted to apologize for his actions.

“Can you give gifts to apologize?”

The cashier’s eyes, brown as an autumn leaf in its last stage before dying, squinted at him. She nodded slowly.

“You can give gifts for anything, really.”

Castiel walked over to the display of stuffed animals and carefully contemplated each of them, wondering which might suit Dean. He pondered over the last stuffed animal on the shelf—a pink teddy bear holding a red heart inscribed with ‘I love you beary much!’—but none of them, bears or otherwise, seemed like the right gift.

He went to the wall of get-well cards and read each one in full before moving on to the next. None of the sentiments were what he wanted to express. Castiel not only wanted to wish Dean a full recovery, but also apologize for contributing to his pain and exploiting him.

“Do you need any help?”

Castiel startled out of his thoughts. He turned towards the voice to find the cashier looking at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” the cashier pointed out. “Do you need help finding something?”

Castiel tilted his head at the flower bouquets. “I do not know what would make a suitable gift for Dean. Nothing here seems like something he would like.”

“Who’s Dean?”

A thrill of pride rushed through Castiel. He set his shoulders and puffed his chest out slightly.

“Dean Winchester is the Righteous Man. I rescued him from Hell and gave him new life.”

The cashier smiled. “Wow. He must be some guy. What is your relationship with him?”

““He is…” Castiel faltered. “I don’t know.”

“Do you like him as a friend?”

Castiel nodded. “I hope he will one day be my friend.”

He had observed friendship amongst the human race for thousands of years. The bonds that formed between humans both with and without blood ties, borne out of their innate desire to nurture and be nurtured, fascinated Castiel beyond words and made him secretly long for a similar relationship. Although Castiel truly did love his angelic brothers and sisters, he wasn’t sure how much of that was the product of duty.

The cashier furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “Hmm. How long have you known him?”

“Three months, eight days, six hours, and sixteen seconds and counting.”

“Oookay. Do you know what Dean likes?”

“He likes his 1967 Chevy Impala whom he has nicknamed Baby and refers to as ‘she’; his stainless steel Colt M1911 handgun; his brother Sam who is four years younger but three inches taller; all types of pie except cherry is his favorite; and classic rock music. His favorite band is Led Zeppelin.”

“Are you sure you’re just friends?”

“I believe he feels the same way.”

The cashier sighed.

“Fine. I have nothing here that would fit Dean’s tastes. Why don’t you try the shopping mall over on Dell Range Boulevard? It will have a lot more variety. And if you can’t find anything, just go with chocolate. It’s not pie, but you can’t go wrong with chocolate.”

Castiel nodded solemnly, tucking the suggestion into the back of his mind. He then tilted his head and studied the cashier.

“There are one million, one hundred and forty nine thousand, six hundred and ninety six females in the world named Emma. And yet each one of you is unique. Emma Barrett, you have been very helpful to me.”

Castiel locked eyes with Emma. Her soul glowed cheerful and warm like a fire in a hearth. He would never tire of examining human souls. Each one sui generis as a fingerprint and beautiful in such a raw, coarse way that was so different from the pure beauty of Heaven and yet just as equally breathtaking.

“You should accept Nathan’s marriage proposal. He knows you have obsessive-compulsive disorder and is ready to support you whenever you tell him.”

He raised his hand to hover Emma’s forehead and imparted God’s blessing on her. Then he flew out of the gift shop.

The shopping mall looked like one large building, but when Castiel entered he discovered there were several smaller buildings inside. He studied the map to determine where he might go. One of the names caught his eye.

Claire’s.

Whenever Castiel touched the slumbering soul of Jimmy inside his vessel to monitor his wellbeing, he found the man dreaming about his family. Castiel was ashamed that he did not let Jimmy say goodbye to his daughter and wife before possessing him, though this kind of shame felt more…sad, perhaps, although Castiel was not sure what sadness was supposed to feel like. He should not have been so cold towards Claire when he took his leave and allowed her and Jimmy a moment of farewell. Castiel had every intention of returning Jimmy to Claire once his purpose had been fulfilled, but he did not know when that would be. She would have to be patient and steadfast as she waited.

Castiel wandered over to the store called Claire’s. It was decorated in pastel colors and filled with earrings, bracelets, and all manner of colorful accessories which seemed specifically designed for young girls. Would Claire enjoy this store? She was a young girl. But in his observations of the human race over the centuries, Castiel found that not all girls liked the things deemed acceptable for girls such as jewelry and makeup. Perhaps Claire was one of those girls.

He tilted his head at a display of rings. Dean wore a ring. Just as some girls preferred things outside gender norms, some boys also liked to be more exploratory. Maybe Dean would like a gift from Claire’s.

As Castiel approached the rings to examine them more closely, he passed by a rotating stand of necklaces. The banner at the top labeled them as friendship necklaces. He recalled what he had told Emma in the hospital gift shop, about wanting to be friends with Dean, and altered his course to take a closer look at the necklaces. Castiel took one of the purple squares off a hook. Wrapped around the cardboard were two silver chains, each strung with half a heart that when put together, formed a whole heart inscribed with the phrase best friends.

“What do you do with this?” he asked the cashier.

This cashier was a seventeen-year-old male. He had blue hair hanging over one eye and a silver ring through his lip. The teenager leaned over the counter to see what Castiel was holding.

“It’s a friendship necklace,” he explained. “You keep one necklace for yourself and give the other one to your best friend.”

“Why?”

The cashier shrugged and tossed his hair out of his eyes. That shade of blue would have been highly prized in fourteenth-century Europe.

“It’s symbolic. Like you are saying, ‘I want you to carry a part of me with you.’ Yeah, it sounds kind of romantic, but it’s really not. Girls like to give them to their friends. It’s very popular.”

Castiel thought about the handprint he had branded on Dean’s shoulder and the threads of his own grace he had used to stitch the hunter’s Hell-ravaged soul back together. Those were the very first gifts he had bestowed on the Righteous Man after rescuing him. But both of those were angelic gifts. Not as meaningful to Dean as they were to Castiel because the former was only human, and thus unable to comprehend the nuances of Heaven’s culture and the significance of what he had received. If Castiel gave Dean something human-made, perhaps he would better understand the angel’s intentions for their relationship. Castiel made up his mind. He was going to get a friendship necklace for Dean. After carefully perusing the design of every pendant on the stand, he finally decided on a plain silver one. The silver reminded him of his angel blade and the plating on Dean’s gun. Two of their most prized possessions.

“I want this one,” he announced.

The cashier took the necklace and rang it up. “That will be $7.49.”

Castiel realized he had no money on him. He flew to the Bank of America Corporate Center in North Carolina and withdrew ten dollars, knowing it would not be missed. Then he flew back to the Claire’s at Frontier Mall in Cheyenne, Wyoming. The cashier blinked rapidly but said nothing. Castiel had only been gone for ten seconds, so his disappearance should not have caused any consternation. To Castiel’s confusion, the cashier handed a few dollar bills back to him along with a plastic bag containing the necklace.

“Keep it,” Castiel said.

The cashier stared at him blankly. “The necklace?”

“The money.”

Castiel placed the dollars on the counter and then reached for the cashier’s earlobes. The teenager flinched away from his hand, but Castiel persisted until he was cupping an ear in his palm.

“Thank you, Finnegan Casey. Your assistance was greatly appreciated. I have healed the damage to your earlobes from the unskilled piercing you received two years ago. If you would like to pierce them again, I suggest going to a more adept professional.”

He took the necklace out of the bag and stowed it in the pocket of his trenchcoat. Then he flew back to the hospital.

Dean was awake when Castiel returned. The angel lingered in the doorway, wondering if his presence would be accepted. After Dean declared the angels would have to find another Righteous Man and ordered Castiel to leave him alone all in a single, angry breath, Castiel was sure that he was no longer welcome in the hunter’s life. But how could offer the necklace and ask forgiveness if he wasn’t allowed to talk to Dean anymore or even be near him? The abdomen of Jimmy’s vessel filled with an odd sensation, like a swarm of bees had suddenly taken up residence in the stomach. But Castiel was an angel and didn’t even have a stomach save for the one in Jimmy’s vessel, and he was detached from the workings of his human vessel anyway so he shouldn’t be feeling this disorientation at all.

“We mustn’t lurk in doorways,” Dean called out. “It’s rude. One might question your upbringing.”

Castiel frowned. Did that mean Dean wanted him to come in? Or was he telling him to leave? The buzzing sensation in his abdomen area increased and Castiel felt a distant surge of alarm at the realization that the contents of his stomach were rising upwards in his vessel and might even come up his throat. Dean groaned out loud.

“Just get in here, Ariel.”

Castiel entered the room. When Dean saw him, he grumbled.

“You again. I thought you left.”

“I did. But I came back.”

“How’s Heaven?”

“I did not go back to Heaven.”

“Where were you then?”

“Claire’s.”

“The girly store?”

Castiel nodded. Dean huffed out a laugh. The danger of expulsion passed as the swarm of metaphorical bees in Jimmy’s vessel took their leave; Castiel sent a prayer of thanks to his Father for strengthening his control over his vessel and for softening the hunter’s heart.

“What were you doing in Claire’s?”

“The name reminded me of Claire Novak, the daughter of this vessel.”

“Oh.”

Dean leaned back against the pillows with a sigh.

“I brought you a gift,” Castiel said.

“From Claire’s?”

“Yes.”

Dean laughed for real this time, shaking his head. He sat up and gestured for Castiel to come closer. Castiel stood at the side of the bed.

“So what’d you get me?”

Castiel withdrew the friendship necklace from his pocket and gave it to Dean.

“I will not presume that we are friends,” the angel explained. “The last time we talked, you made it clear where we stand with one another. But I hope that in the future, we might…”

The emotion in Castiel’s chest was another one he had never experienced before. But the time he spent in Hell cradling Dean’s soul in his arms had given him a better understanding of human emotions and if he had to name this feeling he would have to say it was…fear? But angels do not fear. Why was Castiel afraid?

“You want us to be friends?” Dean asked.

“If you are amenable to that.”

Dean frowned. He traced the shape of the necklace, ran his finger along the jagged line that split the heart in two. Castiel followed the movement with his eyes. He had the strangest thought flash through his mind that his vessel’s heart would crack in the same way if Dean did not accept his offer. Finally, Dean spoke.

“I still don’t trust you. But if you work really hard at proving yourself to me, I might reconsider.”

“Of course.”

That was more than Castiel had expected. He would accept it. He reached out to take the necklace back, but Dean held it away from him. Castiel looked at the hunter in confusion.

“I’ll keep this as a reminder of what we are working towards,” Dean explained. “Like, friends but not yet.”

Yet. A word full of promise and faith. Castiel inclined his head in acceptance.

“Thank you.”

Dean unraveled one of the necklaces and held it out to Castiel, who took it and let the heart rest in the center of his palm.

“Don’t girls usually make a pact with these?” Dean said.

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Me neither. I just remember from elementary school that girl friend groups were said to be super weird, almost like a cult with pacts and promises and maybe even deals with the devil.”

“Would you like to make a pact?” Castiel asked. “Not with the devil, but between the two of us.”

Dean blew out a breath. “If you want to, I guess.”

Castiel pondered the silver heart in his hand, silently composing a pact that was both a promise and an apology. When he had it written out in his mind, he raised his head to look Dean in the eyes. His voice came out soft but firm.

“A profound bond was forged between us when I pulled you out of Hell. But I treated our connection as if we were two soldiers of Heaven, cold and impersonal, and hurt you deeply in the process, not realizing that as a human you required more…emotions in order to build trust. I apologize for the disregard that I gave to your emotions and vow to listen to you better and trust in you more from this moment forward.”

Cas took the chain between his fingers and held it out so the heart charm was suspended in the air. The black cursive script of the word friends stood out in bold contrast against the silver background.

“I do not know what it means to be a friend, as I have never been in a friendship before. I also know that I still have a long way to go before I earn your trust. But I will do everything within my ability to sufficiently honor the sentiment contained within this necklace so you will eventually deem me worthy of your friendship.”

Heavy silence draped over the room like a weighted blanket. Then Dean chuckled.

“You know, when people get married they exchange rings.”

Castiel squinted. “We are not getting married.”

“All that you just said? That was some quality wedding-vow shit.”

“Wedding vows contain declarations of love. I do not know what love feels like from a human perspective, but if you want me to include such sentiments—”

“No!”

Dean’s voice sounded odd, almost like he was being choked once again even though Alastair was nowhere in the room on account of being dead.

“Don’t! Like you said, we’re not, uh, not getting married.”

Silence once again stretched between them, filled with an emotion Castiel could not describe but could say with certainty that he did not like. Then Dean cleared his throat.

“What I said–I meant it was good. It was a, um, a compliment. Just…that.”

Cas felt the swarm of bees return to his stomach, though the threat of expulsion did not accompany them this time. “Thank you.”

He took Dean’s wrist and maneuvered his hand so the palm was facing upward, then held the necklace over it.

“Dean Winchester, will you do me the honor of becoming my friend?”

The hunter turned bright red and snatched the necklace from Castiel, gripping it tight and holding it close to his chest. He ducked his head and wouldn’t look at the angel.

“You can’t say things like that,” he mumbled.

If Castiel were human, he would have sighed.

“I apologize. The wording I used was too similar to that used in marriage proposals and wedding vows and this is neither. My ineptitude is making you uncomfortable. If you do not wish to continue with this, I under—”

“No!” Dean coughed. “I—um, yeah.”

Castiel had no idea what that meant, so he said nothing in reply.

“I'll do it.”

“You wish to become my friend?”

“Jeez, do I have to spell it out for you? Yeah, I…yeah.”

Dean slipped the chain over his head. The heart fell on the center of his chest. He then nodded towards Castiel.

“You gotta wear yours, too.”

Castiel slid his necklace over his head. He could barely feel it over the many layers that his vessel wore, but somehow he was keenly aware of it as if it were his grace or his wings. He knew he would never be able to forget he was wearing it. Castiel held the heart away from his chest and stared down cross-eyed at it. His half had best written on it. It would serve as a constant reminder of what he needed to do in order to earn his friendship with Dean. Do better, be better, be the best he could be so Dean would like him and trust him and become his friend. Castiel looked at the heart that Dean was wearing, stamped with the word friends.

“Friends,” he said.

Dean gave him a tiny smile. “Soon.”

Chapter Text

“Stay awake, Cas,” Sam urged. “C’mon, stay with me.”

“How’s he looking?” Dean called into the backseat.

“Still bleeding. But I don’t think it’s gotten any worse. That’s a good thing, I guess.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean exclaimed. “If your blood is anywhere other than inside your body where it belongs, that’s bad!”

“Eyes on the road, Dean,” Sam admonished.

Team Free Will had gone to investigate a case of missing hearts the next state over because even though the Leviathans had exploded along with Dick Roman, they sadly did not take any of the regular monsters with them. The hunt quickly turned into a fight and Cas got clawed up by one of the werewolves before Sam and Dean shot both of them dead. At least he wasn’t bitten. Thank fuck for small mercies. As it was, the three lacerations across Cas’s chest were long and deep and still oozing blood hours after the hunt ended.

Sam hovered his hand over Cas’s hair but did not touch. He wanted to run his fingers through Cas’s hair so badly, for the angel’s comfort as much as his own, but it was already a big deal that Cas had been willing to lay his head in Sam’s lap even if it was just to help him breathe a little easier, so Sam didn’t want to push his luck.

“Just a few more minutes and we’ll be back at the motel,” Sam murmured.

Cas reached for Sam’s hand and began rubbing his thumb across the knuckles. Sam dropped his shoulders and blew out a long breath, relaxing against the leather seat.

“You don’t have to—”

Cas rubbed his thumb harder. Sam closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His own fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to return the gesture.

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas.”

After Dean and Cas got sucked into Purgatory, Sam shut down. Time blurred together and when he regained a modicum of coherency, he found himself in an abandoned cabin in the woods with a dog, several gallons of locally-made moonshine, and a loaded gun. Time blurred again as Sam stared at the gun wondering what it would taste like if he put it in his mouth. Then Dean showed up with a still-not-entirely-there Cas and it took several days for Sam to believe they were real and not ghosts who had appeared to lead him to the other side. When Sam finally stepped down from the ledge and fell into his brother’s arms, Dean drove the three of them to a lakehouse he later revealed had been Benny’s once upon a time. And that was where they had spent the last year recovering Cas’s lucidity, Dean’s peace of mind, and Sam’s wellbeing. They were living there even now, and none of them were sure when they were going to leave—if ever.

The healing process was excruciating. None of them were trained psychiatrists or therapists and neither were they willing to seek professional help, so they read books and Googled peer-reviewed articles and relied on trial and error to find out what worked. In the first six months, it seemed that every day they took two steps forward and one step back. There were a lot of physical and verbal altercations, cutting insults, tears, blood, and strained vocal chords in those early days. The problem with knowing one another this intimately was that they knew where to hit where it would hurt the most. But things eventually got better. Little by little, wounds scarred over and scars faded and the good days began to outnumber the bad. A year later and life wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was a lot better than before.

Cas struggled the most out of the three of them. His fractured mind had trapped him in between human and angel. Still in possession of his wings and grace but needing to eat and sleep and deal with the full range of human emotions, it was a knock-down, drag out fight between all three of them to find a balance between Cas’s two conflicting natures and come to terms with his new identity. Now, though, Cas was able to accept his human urges without spiraling into an existential crisis for four weeks out of five. Physical touch was still a problem unless he initiated it and he couldn’t sleep through the night unless Dean was in bed with him, but he was getting better. And up until the clawing, today had been a remarkably good day for him. Sam silently cursed their luck. Cas didn’t deserve this constant backsliding.

“We’re here,” Dean announced as the Impala lurched to a stop. “Is he still awake?”

“Yeah. Kind of. Hey, Cas. We’re here. I’m gonna help you sit up, okay? Then Dean will help you out of the car.”

Sam put a hand under Cas’s head and raised him upright. Then he carefully helped the angel through the rear door of the Impala, where Dean was waiting with hovering hands. Cas shivered a little at both their touches, but in this instance Sam couldn’t let him choose which physical contact he wanted because they needed to get him inside and that would not happen without them practically carrying him. After what felt like far too long, the door to their motel room finally closed behind them and Dean was wrestling Cas’s clothes off before Sam’s brain could catch up to the situation.

“A little help, Sammy?”

Sam blinked and then hustled over to help Dean remove Cas’s trenchcoat and the band t-shirt he had stolen from Dean. As part of his exploration of his identity, Cas started wearing outfits other than his suit, but he clung to the trenchcoat as if it were a lifeline. Security blanket, Sam had determined after a little research. The trenchcoat was thankfully not torn but the shirt was beyond saving, so they just ripped it further where it was already ripped.

“You’re lucky this wasn’t my favorite shirt,” Dean grumbled.

Cas was now naked from the waist up. He sat down on the edge of the bed he was sharing with Dean while Dean rummaged in his duffel bag for the first aid kit. And that was when Sam saw it. A delicate silver chain around Cas’s neck on which was hung half of a silver heart. Sam peered closer and noticed the heart was inscribed with the word best.

“Is that,” Sam said, slowly and incredulously. “Is that a friendship necklace, Cas?”

The angel looked down at his chest. “Yes, it is. I got it from Claire’s.”

Sam blamed the leftover adrenaline still burning its way through his system for the hysteria-tinged laugh that bubbled out of him. Cas frowned. The slash marks on his chest looked even worse in the poor lighting of the seedy motel room. This really was no laughing matter, Sam knew. Cas was hurt and in pain. But he found it difficult to focus on the task at hand because an Angel of the Lord was wearing a friendship necklace that he got from Claire’s. Sam fought to keep his voice even.

“So who has the other half?”

Dean exited the bathroom with the first aid kit in hand. He looked at Cas’s chest and froze, eyes as wide as the Impala’s hubcaps. Sam’s breath caught. A slow smile crossed his face as he realized what the reaction meant. Dean let his face go blank and sat down next to Cas. Their eyes met for a brief moment and then Dean moved the heart charm on the angel’s necklace out of the way with an indescribably gentle touch.

“You’re going to need stitches, ’kay? Have a bit of hunter’s helper.”

Dean handed Cas the bottle of whiskey they always kept on hand for medicinal purposes. After Cas took a few sips, Dean took it back to pour some on Cas’s chest, making him wince. Dean murmured an apology and carefully wiped the area clean before starting on the needlework. Sam sat down on the second bed.

“Who’d you give the other half of your necklace to?” Sam repeated.

Dean huffed. “Dude, lay off him. He’s in a lot of pain right now.”

“I’m just keeping him distracted. So, Cas?”

Cas looked at Dean with the biggest, wettest goo-goo eyes in the history of the world and Sam wanted to scream because his brother was completely oblivious to the adoring expression lasering into him, too focused on the stitches he was putting into Cas’s torn skin.

“I gave it to Dean.”

“When was this?”

“December 28th, 2008.”

Sam did some quick math. “Cas, that was six years ago.”

Cas nodded.

“It was. I gave the necklace to Dean after his interrogation of Alastair that had gone wrong due to Uriel’s betrayal, as an apology for my actions. Dean was not ready to be my friend yet, but he took the necklace as a promise for what we would be working towards.”

“Are you friends now?”

“Yes. Dean said he was my friend on June 20th, 2009, five months and twenty-three days after I gave him the necklace.”

“And you’re still just friends?” Sam said.

Cas gave him a confused look. “Yes, friends.”

Sam saw his brother’s shoulders stiffen and heard him inhale sharply. He fought to keep the smile off his face. Inwardly, though, he was squealing with delight. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, feeling every bit like a gossipy teenage girl but not caring at all.

“What kind of promise did you make?” Sam pressed. “Did you make a pact?”

“No, Sam!” Dean interrupted, turning towards Sam with a face full of exasperation. “Do we look like teenage girls?”

Sam looked at Dean and flicked his eyes down to Cas’s necklace. His brother followed his gaze and then scowled. Sam grinned.

“Could have fooled me,” he chuckled.

Cas spoke up.

“We did. At least, I did. I promised to prove myself to Dean and expressed my hope that I would one day merit his friendship. Though I didn’t know I was feeling hopeful at the time. I only knew what faith felt like. Not hope.”

Cas’s eyes clouded over with the memory of that day. Sam made a mental note to wring every last detail out of Cas when he was feeling better. Dean, on the other hand, looked like he was torn between lunging at Sam with the needle and thread to sew his mouth shut and running straight through the closed door Wile E. Coyote-style. Sam strained his abdominal muscles trying not to laugh.

“I bet it was super sappy,” he gasped out. “Did Dean cry?”

Cas shook his head. “There was no tree sap involved, although Dean did compliment me. He called my promise ‘quality wedding-vow shit.’” The angel made air-quotes around the last words.

Dean bolted out of the room like he was being chased by a horde of fangirls. The door banged shut behind him so hard the doorframe rattled. Sam lost all forms of self-restraint and dissolved into uproarious laughter. Cas tilted his head, face full of confusion.

“Was that not a compliment? I have noticed that the more a person likes something, the more sarcastic they become. And that makes it very difficult to determine real sarcasm.”

Sam looked at Cas and remembered the claw marks on his chest. He calmed himself down and went to examine Dean’s work. Cas could still heal himself with his grace, but the process was a lot slower than normal and not as sufficient as before, so Sam and Dean did what they could to help the healing along. Even though Dean had been under pressure, the stitches were still neat and tight and fully done, on all three of the scratches.

“How are you feeling?”

Cas sighed. “Good. My grace is numbing the pain.”

“Do you want to sit back?”

“Please.”

Sam removed Cas’s shoes and belt and helped him move across the bed so he was in the corner where the bed met the wall. The other half was left open for Dean when he returned. Sam arranged the pillows to let Cas recline back and pulled the bedcovers up to the angel’s waist. He then turned the overhead light off so only the lamp was illuminating the room. Cas wouldn’t be able to sleep until Dean came back but Sam could make him comfortable and relaxed until then. He sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Hey, Cas. Just so you know I wasn’t making fun of you. I think it’s great that you two are—have such a profound bond. I was just…surprised. That’s all.”

Cas practically melted into the pillows upon hearing those words, which made Sam feel a little guilty at knocking down his self-esteem with his reaction.

“I thought I told you before that Dean and I have a profound bond.”

“You did, but this surprised me because Dean doesn’t really do, you know, what he calls ‘chick flick moments’.” Sam made air-quotes to lightly tease Cas as a sort of apology. “If I tried to give him something like that, he’d chuck it at my head or make me swallow it or something. He would never in a million years agree to wearing it.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Sam. You and I both know that as much as Dean claims to hate ‘chick flick moments’, he secretly loves them very much. The reason why he hides it is because he was taught from an early age by your father that being physically affectionate and emotionally vulnerable were not proper masculine traits.”

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. I learned that the hard way, many times over. He hasn’t given you any shit over the necklaces, has he?”

“No. He never talks about them. But he still wears his, I know.”

Sam took off his shoes and removed his shirts until he was down to only one layer. Then he got comfortable on his own bed, leaning back against the pillows.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Painkillers, water, something to eat?”

“No, thank you.”

“Mind if I talk to you until I fall asleep?”

“I always enjoy when we talk together, Sam. What do you want to talk about?”

Sam couldn’t contain himself any longer. He needed to know. He rolled onto his side and propped himself up onto one elbow. Castiel turned his head to look at Sam across the room.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but I really want to know: how did you get the necklace?”

“It’s okay, Sam. I don’t mind telling you the story. It’s one of my most treasured memories.”

Oh, this was going to be good. Sam was totally bringing up this story in his best man’s speech. He grinned in anticipation.

“Tell me everything about the day you bought the necklace for Dean. Where were you, how did you find the necklace, what were the exact words that Dean said to you—everything.”

“Very well. Dean was in the hospital recovering from his interrogation of Alastair that had gone terribly wrong due to Uriel’s betrayal…”

Much later that night, both Cas and Sam were dozing when Dean finally came back. The lamp on the nightstand was still on, bathing the dark room with a soft, warm glow. Cas did not stir, continuing to lie there with his eyes closed even though Sam knew he wasn’t completely asleep. Sam sat up to watch Dean as he entered the room.

“Where’d you go?” Sam asked, keeping his voice light and curious so his question wouldn’t be interpreted as an interrogation.

“Driving around,” Dean mumbled. “Just thinking.”

Sam was proud of his brother for not going to a bar and plastering himself into oblivion. He had quit drinking cold turkey when he returned from Purgatory and realized he couldn’t help either Sam or Cas with their recovery if he was constantly hungover. Dean hadn’t touched a drop in over a year.

“Cas is doing fine. The claw marks are already heading and he isn’t in pain. Great stitchwork, by the way.”

Dean’s shoulders dropped and his face cleared. “Good, good. That’s good.”

Sam studied his brother’s profile in the low lamplight. Dean looked tired, though not as world-weary as before. It was difficult to remember especially on hard days, but Sam had to remind himself that they were doing better. They were healing. Recovery wasn’t linear like everyone commonly assumed. Taking two steps forward and one step back was not so bad if one focused on the two steps forward instead of the one step back.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

Dean turned to face him fully and Sam looked at him in the way that only they looked at each other, a warning not to lie softened with the reassurance of support and understanding. Sam held his breath because even though they had come a long way in breaking down walls, they still struggled to step beyond the rubble.

“I was scared,” Dean admitted quietly. “This is the first hunt we’ve been on in over a year and Cas…we could have lost him.”

Sam looked over at the one in question, who still had not stirred. Both he and Cas had learned it was easier for Dean to open up if the person he was worried about wasn’t in the room or at the very least pretending to sleep. Even if Dean was aware of the deception, the illusion was enough for him to feel a little more at ease with being emotionally vulnerable.

“He is okay,” Sam said quietly.

“Mmm.”

“But no more hunts for a while, yeah?”

Dean looked askance at him. “Never?”

“If you want to,” Sam agreed, keeping his tone neutral.

Inside his chest, though, Sam’s heart gave a leap. Early one morning in the seventh month at the lakehouse, he stood on the front porch and thought of the Bunker for the first time since they got here. The windowless walls, the industrial lighting, the concrete floors. Such a stark contrast to the lakehouse in the wide open outdoors. The Men of Letters Bunker was built for hunters by hunters and Sam couldn’t stand living in a place that was a constant reminder of the life he was stuck in. He never wanted to go back.

But the Bunker shouldn’t be abandoned. Its extensive archive of research and supernatural paraphernalia and the building itself were too useful to let them go to waste. Memories of Bobby floated back to Sam, and even more distant ones of the Roadhouse. They should set up the Bunker as the new Roadhouse, the new hub of operations for the hunting community. And then they could become mentors for the next generation of hunters. Teaching the skills they had accumulated over the decades but sending the young ones out to handle the field work. Leaving the family business and yet not leaving it at the same time. The best of both worlds.

Dean refused to even hear the idea when it was first proposed. But Sam continued to drop hints, large and small, nearly every day because he knew exactly what kind of argument his brother was making—the kind he only made when trying to deflect attention away from how afraid he was. Sam understood. He understood so, so well. The family business was the one constant in Dean’s life—even more so than Sam—and Dean was terrified to let go of it and lose himself in the process. But Sam also knew how much his brother longed for a normal life and wasn’t about to let Dean give it up just because he was scared. So he kept making gentle suggestions in the hopes that one day Dean would find the courage to be selfish and decide what he really, truly wanted for himself.

“Never,” Dean repeated softly to himself, gazing into the distance.

Sam glanced over at Cas. He had his eyes open and was looking at Dean, who didn’t notice because he had his back to Cas. A fond smile was on Cas’s face. He fully supported the plan to leave the Bunker, but Sam asked him not to try convincing Dean. Sam knew his brother would immediately agree with Cas just to make him happy and Sam wanted Dean to make the decision on his own. Cas glanced at Sam. The two of them exchanged smiles and nods of victory.

Dean turned around. Cas was quick to settle back down and close his eyes. Dean moved to stand next to the bed and hovered a hand over Cas’s head.

“Can I touch your hair?” he asked quietly.

Cas made a noise of assent without opening his eyes. Dean gently dropped his hand and ran his fingers through Cas’s hair, making him hum with contentment. Both of them smiled.

“Be there in a moment, ‘kay?” Dean murmured.

Cas nodded. Dean moved away and began tucking the sheets around Cas. Sam watched him. He trained his eyes on his brother’s neck, but could only see the black cord of the amulet. Sam had rescued the necklace from the trash can where Dean had cruelly discarded it and concealed it in the seam of his duffel bag. He couldn’t bring himself to wear the amulet, try as he might, so he kept it hidden hoping to give it back to Dean when the time was right. Then Sam’s mind shattered after he lost his brother to Purgatory and he didn’t remember where he put the amulet until after he pieced together all the fractures. Dean yanked the amulet over his head the moment Sam shyly presented it to him in the kitchen of the lakehouse and hugged Sam breathless. The thick cord of the amulet and the collar of Dean’s flannel shirts were probably the reasons why Sam never saw the thin silver chain of Dean’s friendship necklace.

Sam tilted his head as he continued to stare at his brother’s neck. He thought he saw the slightest flash of silver but it could have very well been his hopeful imagination. Then Sam chuckled as a thought occurred to him. Dean turned around, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Exchanging tokens of love, making solemn pacts of promise…” Sam chuckled again. “Are you sure this wasn’t a marriage ceremony, Dean?”

Dean turned bright red. Sam’s eyes widened.

“No way,” he breathed.

“I mean,” Dean mumbled. “In Purgatory we kind of decided that it was close enough, so…yeah.”

Sam stared at his brother.

“So you…?”

Dean glared. “I’m not gonna spell it out for you, Sam.”

It was absurd. Ludicrous. A romcom would never even dream of a wedding so out-of-the-box it might as well be in outer space. And yet…

Getting married with friendship necklaces in a primeval forest full of undead monsters sounded exactly like the kind of thing Dean would do.

“If you want to make it official you can,” Sam offered. “It’s legal now, you know.”

Dean rolled his eyes . “I’m a wanted criminal who's supposed to be dead several times over and Cas is an angel. I don’t think the law covers us.”

He glanced back at Cas and his face softened. Cas opened his eyes, pulling his arm out from beneath the blanket to reach his hand out. Dean sat down on the bed and took Cas’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles.

“Besides, we don’t need that. What we’ve got, it’s enough.”

Dean took a deep breath and hesitated another second before letting go of Cas’s hand to withdraw the friendship necklace from his shirt. Sam looked at the half-heart, the cursive script standing out boldly on the silver surface. Friends. A sudden rush of love surged through Sam.

“I’m so happy for you, Dean.”

Sam smiled earnestly to show that he meant every word. Dean grinned back and Sam realized he would do anything to keep that look of awestruck joy on his brother’s face. They were going to make the lakehouse their home and Dean wouldn’t have to think about anything except what he wanted to cook each day in the beautiful kitchen with the window overlooking the lake.

“Matzel tov, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean stood up and crossed the space between the two beds to put Sam into a headlock and ruffle his hair. Then he lowered his arm so it rested on Sam’s collarbone and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. The simple gesture was full of the love and gratitude that Dean couldn’t express with words. Sam laid his hand on top of Dean’s and leaned his head against his brother’s side. They stood like that for a long moment. Then Dean let go and disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam settled back down into his bed. He wondered what he could give Dean as an unofficial, belated wedding present. Then an evil thought occurred to him and he grinned to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

“Christmas is not for another six months,” Dean groused.

“This is not a Christmas present,” Sam explained. “This is a wedding present.”

Dean groaned. “Why, Sam?”

“So you’re saying you don’t want it?”

“No! I’ll take it. But note that I am doing so begrudgingly.”

Sam grinned. His brother love, love, loved presents of any kind but never would admit to it even as he tore into the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning. Dean pushed the present over to Cas.

“We’ve got to open this together,” he said.

Cas looked confused, but obligingly ripped the paper on half of the present. When they got the gift unwrapped, Dean took one look and his face darkened.

“Sam!”

“It’s nonstick,” Sam said innocently.

He bolted, cackling like a witch while Dean chased after him muttering threats and curses.

Meanwhile, Cas regarded the box in his hands with curiosity, wondering why Dean had reacted so strongly.

It was a waffle iron.