Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cottage was warm with magic, and the air smelled like cedar and cinnamon.

Cas's fingers glided through the air, the tip of his wand drawing a gentle sigil into the flame that hovered over their stove. The blue fire crackled sweetly, reacting to his magic, simmering the enchanted tea just the way Dean liked it—earthy and strong, with a whisper of moonroot.

From the rafters, a flash of reddish-brown fur zipped across a beam.

“You’re not supposed to be up there, baby,” Cas said, not looking up from the swirling rune. But there was the smallest tug at the corner of his mouth.

The squirrel chittered in reply, darted once in a circle, then leapt from the beam to the stack of books by the hearth—his tail a dramatic plume behind him. With a shimmer of golden magic, Dean’s small body pulsed and shifted—legs stretching, arms forming, bones lengthening until, bare and smirking, Dean sat sprawled in his human form across Cas’s armchair.

“You gonna tell me where the fun in life is if I don’t break at least one rule a day, angel?” Dean teased, his voice gravel-warm, his hair tousled from shifting. His chest, dusted in freckles, rose with lazy breath. “Also, that tea smells like a mistake. Did you sneak in fire petals again?”

Cas turned, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes glowed just faintly with magic, but more than that—they glowed with affection so deep, so utterly consuming, that it made Dean still.

“I brew for your health, honey,” Cas said, voice low. “Even when you leap across the room like a chaotic rodent.”

Dean snorted. “Familiars have to keep you on your toes, Cas, y’know. Comes with the fur.”

Cas crossed the room slowly, placing the tea on the small table beside Dean. He leaned down, bracing one hand on the arm of the chair, his fingers a whisper from Dean’s skin. “You come with far more than fur, my beloved. You come with reckless delight. Fire in your eyes. A heart I would curse the stars to protect.”

Dean blinked, pink rising in his cheeks. “Okay I got it, you're a romantic witch for your familiar. But that’s a bit much for tea, don’t you think?”

Cas’s expression didn’t flinch. “You mock, but you know it’s true.”

“Yes,” Dean whispered, voice catching just slightly. “I do.”

Cas kissed his temple. Just once.

That night, Dean curled beside him in bed—his squirrel form tucked under Cas’s chin, tail wrapped around Cas’s neck like a scarf.

Outside, the storm was still a whisper on the wind. But Cas felt it.

In his bones. In the bond.

A warning.

And he held Dean just a little tighter.

Chapter Text

The storm didn’t arrive quietly. It tore across the treetops like a scream.

Dean had gone out early—just a quick forage, he’d promised, shifting with a wink before leaping into the trees. Cas had let him go, reluctantly, his magic building low in his belly like pressure.

Now the wind howled.

Leaves slammed against the windows of the cottage like desperate hands. Cas stood at the door, fingers white-knuckled on the frame. The bond—he could still feel it. Distant. Flickering. Dean was alive.

Until he wasn’t.

It wasn’t just a snap—it was a silence.

A hole tearing open in the middle of Cas’s soul. He staggered back, gasping, one hand clutching at his chest. “Dean—”

He didn’t put on boots. Didn’t take a coat. Just ran.

The rain was merciless, slicing down like knives. Lightning lit the sky—white, then blue, then white again. And through the storm, Cas followed the hollow ache in his bond like a scream.

He found the tree split down the center—burnt and steaming. At its base, crumpled and smoking, was a tiny, broken squirrel.

Dean.

Cas fell to his knees with a cry that shattered the sky itself.

“No, no, no—Dean—” His hands trembled as he lifted the body, fingers already blistering from the heat. Dean’s fur was scorched. His little chest didn’t move. His mouth was open. Eyes closed.

“Please—please no—”

Cas didn’t think. He acted.

He pressed his mouth to Dean’s tiny muzzle, whispering a breath-charm with every ounce of power he had. Again. Again. His hands glowed gold, pushing against Dean’s tiny chest. Again. “Come on, my love. Come back to me. Come back to me—”

The magic sparked—but sputtered.

Dean didn’t move.

Cas’s magic pulsed wild—angry, desperate, clinging. He cradled Dean’s broken form and screamed—not a sound of rage, but of grief, of love too big to be held inside a mortal body. The wind stilled. The trees stopped their thrashing.

The world listened .

And Cas bent low, pressing his mouth to Dean’s again, whispering not a spell, but a promise.

“I won’t let you go. Not like this. Not now.”

His hands glowed brighter. The bond, frayed and fading, flared like a wick catching flame.

“Come back,” Cas whispered, and kissed him again.

And the familiar turned human in his arms.

Dean’s body pulsed once—magic seizing him like lightning in reverse.

His back arched. He gasped—just once—and then fell still again, human now, burns etched across his chest, arms, and legs.

But breathing.

Barely.

Cas sobbed into his shoulder and held him to his chest like a sacred thing.

Chapter Text

The rain had lessened to a steady drizzle by the time Cas stumbled back through the door of the cottage, Dean cradled in his arms like glass wrapped in fire. Every step was agony—not from pain, but from fear, from the unbearable fragility of the weight in his arms. Dean’s breathing was shallow. Too shallow. His skin was hot in places, burned raw, and ice-cold in others.

Cas didn’t speak. Words couldn’t hold this.

He laid Dean down on the couch, the one with the soft green cushions he had picked out. Cas spread a clean blanket beneath him with magic, then hovered above, hands trembling over Dean’s chest.

The burns were... terrible. Angry, red, blistered welts streaked across his torso, curling down his arms and along his legs like the storm had kissed him too hard, too fast. His breathing came in hitching gasps. His lips were a shade too blue.

Cas’s hands hovered just above the damage, light spilling from his fingers.

“You're going to be okay, sweetheart," Cas whispered—not because Dean could hear him, but because Cas needed to say it. His voice broke. “Please just stay with me. I’ve got you.”

He inhaled and began to heal.

It wasn’t like the neat spells in books. Cas whispered incantations in a mix of Latin and old forest tongue, his fingers brushing just barely against ruined skin. The light pulsed. Burnt muscle tried to knit. Blood vessels reformed—but slowly, so slowly.

Cas worked until the strain made his shoulders ache, his spine curve. The bond between them pulsed weakly, like a signal trying to come home.

Dean twitched once.

Cas froze, leaning in. “Dean?”

Dean didn’t wake.

But a sound left his lips. A small one. Not quite a breath, not quite a moan.

Cas crumpled at his side, kneeling with his hands in Dean’s hair. “I’m here. You’re safe, baby. I've got you.” He kissed Dean’s temple gently, whispering it over and over like a mantra. “I've got you. I've got you.”

Hours passed. Cas never left his side. Not even to drink. Not even to breathe.

Eventually, the wounds began to cool. His magic had stabilized Dean’s vitals—his heart beat steady now, even if it was faint. But the burns were deep. The nerve damage was unpredictable. Dean’s legs kicked without command, muscles spasming under the skin.

And Cas couldn’t stop them.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Cas whispered, placing both hands over Dean’s shaking thighs, magic soothing the muscle beneath. “I know it hurts. I know. I’ll fix it. I swear to you, I’ll fix it all.”

Dean’s hands were curled into fists. Cas unfurled each finger one by one and pressed kisses to each knuckle. “You are not alone, my love. You’ll never be alone again.”

He conjured a basin of warm, enchanted water and cleaned the worst of the burns, whispering apologies every time Dean flinched in his sleep. His voice stayed low, loving.

“You’re so strong. You always were. Even when you were two inches tall and hissing at rabbits in my herb garden.”

That got a smile from him. Barely there. A twitch. But real.

Cas’s heart broke and healed all at once.

“I love you,” he whispered against the back of Dean’s hand. “I love you more than the storm, more than the moon, more than anything with a name.”

And when Dean whimpered in his sleep, body jolting again, Cas crawled onto the couch beside him, pulling Dean into his lap, cradling him to his chest like he was something sacred.

“You're mine,” Cas whispered fiercely. “And I’m yours. And nothing—not even lightning—takes that from us.”

Chapter Text

It happened at dawn.

Cas hadn't slept. He couldn’t. He’d spent the night curled around Dean, legs tucked beneath him on the couch, arms around the fragile weight of his familiar’s body. The room was silent except for the soft hum of wards he'd spun into the air—thin, glowing threads of magic that shimmered and hissed every time Dean's heartbeat fluttered.

Cas didn’t notice the sunrise until its first light spilled through the windows and touched Dean’s face.

And then Dean moved.

Not much. Just a twitch—a small shift of his fingers, a shallow furrow between his brows. But Cas felt it like an earthquake. His head snapped up, eyes locking on the slight motion.

“Dean, my love?” His voice cracked, raw with hours of holding it in.

Dean’s lips parted. His throat worked.

A faint, broken sound spilled out—a rasp, barely more than the memory of a breath. His chest stuttered.

“Dean—no, no, stay with me.” Cas’s hands were already on him, one pressed against Dean’s sternum, the other cradling his cheek. “Breathe, baby. Come on.”

Dean tried. He really did. His chest hitched again, lungs fighting for air that wouldn’t come, and his whole body jerked once, violently. His fingers curled like claws into Cas’s robe. Panic exploded in Cas’s chest.

“I’ve got you, baby. Just stay with me—”

Cas moved fast. He tilted Dean’s head, pressed his lips to Dean’s open mouth, and pushed breath into him—not just air, but magic, raw and glowing, drawn from deep in his core. Their bond lit up between them like a struck match.

Dean gasped. Then coughed.

It was a horrible, broken sound, but it was alive. He coughed again, harder this time, and tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as Cas pulled him upright against his chest.

“That’s it, that’s it, breathe for me,” Cas begged, rocking him gently. “Just breathe, sweetheart. That’s all you have to do.”

Dean choked, wheezing, his face pale and glistening with sweat. His hands clutched at Cas weakly. But he was breathing. Barely, raggedly—but breathing.

Cas pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek, then to his throat. “You're okay,” he whispered. “You're going to be okay, my love."

Dean’s eyelids fluttered. His gaze tried to focus.

“C... Cas?”

Cas made a sound that wasn’t a sob, wasn’t a laugh—just something wild and raw and reverent. “Yes. I’m here, baby. Calm down."

Dean’s body shook violently in his arms, his limbs spasming without rhythm or reason. His legs kicked. His fingers twitched.

Cas held him tighter. “It’s the nerves. The lightning. I know. I know, baby. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there—”

Dean’s hand brushed his chest, trembling uncontrollably. “C-can’t... breathe good.”

“I know,” Cas whispered, voice choked. “I’ll help you. I’ll give you my breath if I have to, every minute.”

He gently shifted Dean’s body, laying him across his lap, then spread his palm over Dean’s ribs. Warmth glowed under his hand, magic pulsing gently.

A soft spell, old forest magic—he used it to calm the spasms. Dean whimpered as the muscles began to ease.

“I’m here,” Cas murmured again, kissing his temple. “Every second. Every breath. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Dean’s eyes slipped shut, his face contorted with pain. “Hurts.”

“I know, my love. I know.” Cas kissed him again. “I’ll take all of it if I can. I’ll carry it for you. You don’t have to say a word.”

He wrapped his arms around Dean’s shivering form and began humming—an old lullaby his mother once sang to him, woven with magic now, meant to soothe.

Dean’s hand, shaking violently, found his.

Cas laced their fingers together and whispered: “You’re not broken. You’re not less. You’re my everything. And I will put you back together with love and magic and my whole damn soul if I have to.”

Dean didn’t answer—but his hand squeezed, just a little.

Cas stayed like that, rocking him, until the tremors passed and Dean finally, finally fell into true sleep.

Chapter Text

The storm had passed days ago, but it still echoed inside Cas.

Every time Dean flinched in his sleep, every time he struggled to draw a breath or his limbs spasmed in ways beyond his control, the lightning struck again in Cas’s chest—sharp, white-hot, and cruel.

Cas didn’t leave his side.

Not to eat. Not to rest. Not to cast anything except healing wards and touch-spells and breath-giving enchantments that cost more than they should but still felt like not enough.

Dean was lying on the couch now, a cushion beneath his head, a wool blanket wrapped around him, his body limp and pale except for the angry burns across his chest and legs. His breathing was shallow. He hadn't spoken much since waking. He was trying—but his lungs hadn’t recovered, and neither had his nerves. His hands twitched. His legs jolted. His jaw clenched in pain when he tried to move.

Cas sat on the floor beside him, holding one of his shaking hands carefully in both of his own.

“Are you still with me, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

Dean blinked at him. Just once.

That was enough.

Cas bent and kissed the back of his hand. “I’m going to do a stronger spell. Not painful, I swear. But it might feel... strange. Tingly.”

Dean didn’t answer, but his fingers curled against Cas’s.

Cas exhaled, let his eyes slip shut, and started chanting.

He didn’t speak in Latin or Enochian or any of the powerful tongues that broke mountains. No—this was older. Softer. The language of leaf and bark and blood. Familiar magic. Bond magic.

He whispered the syllables into Dean’s skin.

One hand traced down Dean’s arm, painting symbols with pure light. Runes for healing. For anchoring. For protection. Another rune for warmth. One for peace.

The last one he carved gently into the skin of Dean’s ribs, just above the heart. It glowed gold for a moment, then sank into the skin like breath disappearing into fog.

Cas kissed the mark. “No storm will touch you again, my love. I swear it.”

Dean made a noise—not quite a word, but soft and hoarse. His lips barely moved.

Cas leaned closer. “What, baby?”

Dean tried again. “Cold…”

Cas swore under his breath and immediately pulled off his cloak, wrapping it around Dean’s torso. Then his own shirt followed. Then a heat spell, drawn quick and harsh into the air above them, humming like a heartbeat.

Dean shivered again and curled weakly into Cas’s side.

“I’m here. I’ve got you, honey.” Cas cradled him close, careful not to jostle the burns. “You don’t ever have to be cold again. I’ll keep you warm."

Dean closed his eyes. A tremor went through him, but slower now. Less frantic.

Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair gently, untangling curls matted with sweat. “You’re beautiful, my familiar.” he whispered. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

Dean didn’t answer, but a tear slipped from his eye.

Cas kissed it away.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he murmured. “Let me be that for you. Let me carry it.”

Dean’s voice cracked, barely audible: “Are you... angry?”

Cas froze. Then: “No. Never. Not at you.”

“You told me... not to go out alone.”

Cas breathed in slowly, deeply. “I did. But I should’ve gone with you. I should’ve followed you sooner. I should’ve—” He stopped. Pressed their foreheads together. “But you’re here. You’re still here.”

Dean let out a shaky breath. “You brought me back.”

“I will always bring you back, sweetheart.”

Silence lingered for a long time. Not empty, but full of shared breath and unspoken love.

Cas rested his hand on Dean’s chest, over his heart, feeling its slow, uneven beat.

“I’m going to make a protection spell permanent,” he whispered. “It will live in your skin. In your bones. You won’t see it. But you’ll feel it. It will hum through you, like my voice, when I say your name.”

Dean managed a faint smile. “That sounds like you, angel.”

Cas chuckled softly, brushing a thumb under his eye. “I’m dramatic when it comes to you.”

“You love me that much?”

Cas didn’t hesitate. “I love you enough to burn down heaven. Or tear apart the sky if it tries to take you again.”

Dean’s fingers brushed against Cas’s collarbone—barely there, a whisper of a touch.

“I’d come back for you, too,” he whispered.

“I know, baby,” Cas said, his voice breaking. “But let me do the saving for a while. Just rest. Just heal. Just... stay.”

Dean let out a soft, stuttered breath—and finally, finally, he nodded.

Cas kissed him, slow and careful and full of every promise he hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

The lightning had struck. But they were still here. Together.

Chapter Text

Night came in slow, trembling waves.

The forest outside their cottage was quiet, damp from rain. The only sound inside the room was the faint crackle of the fire and the uneven, pained breath of Dean Winchester—witch’s familiar, magic-born, thunder-scarred.

Cas had placed every charm he could around the room: one above the bed to ward off fear, one under the mattress to soften nightmares, another—woven into the fabric of the quilt—for warmth and comfort. But still, Dean couldn’t sleep.

His body twitched. Sometimes violently. The nerve damage made his legs spasm without warning, and his fingers curled and flexed like they were grasping for something only his instincts could see. He whimpered every few minutes—not from fear, but exhaustion. He wanted sleep. He needed it. But pain wouldn’t let him have it.

Cas sat at the edge of the bed, watching.

His heart ached.

He reached out slowly, cupping Dean’s cheek with careful fingers. “My love,” he whispered, “try to rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Dean blinked up at him, dazed and worn, his breathing labored. “Hurts.”

“I know,” Cas said gently. “I know, sweetheart.”

He reached for the glass vial on the bedside table—a sleep potion infused with herbs and low-level healing magic. But Dean shook his head.

“No more spells,” he mumbled. “Just… you.”

Cas’s chest clenched. “Then you’ll have me. All of me.”

He stood and began to shed his robes—quietly, so as not to startle him. Once he was in a soft linen undershirt and trousers, he slid into bed beside Dean, carefully pulling him into his arms.

Dean curled toward the warmth automatically.

Cas shifted them until Dean’s head rested over his heart, and his arms were wrapped securely around him. Their legs tangled—Cas careful of every burn, every tremor. He whispered a low grounding spell into the space between them, but this one didn’t need words. It only needed love.

Dean’s breath hitched.

Then another spasm took him—violent enough to make his back arch. Cas held him firm, murmuring, “Shh. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

When the tremor faded, Dean made a tiny noise in his throat. Not a sob. Not quite.

Cas kissed the top of his head. “Let me give you peace.”

He shifted slightly and whispered into Dean’s ear: “Let me be your quiet. Let me be the place where nothing hurts.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. “Don’t let go.”

“Never.”

Cas pressed his hand flat over Dean’s chest—just under the burn, where the skin still flaked red and raw—and began to hum. Not a melody. Not a song. Just a vibration. A pulse. A reminder that Cas was here. That Dean’s heart was still beating. That love was a force stronger than storm or fire or even death.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Dean still flinched. Still twitched. But they grew softer. Slower. Less violent.

Cas gently brushed his fingers through Dean’s hair, murmuring whatever came to his mind.

“You are the bravest soul I’ve ever known.”

“You are mine.”

“You’re allowed to be fragile. You are still so whole to me.”

At some point, Dean whispered something too soft to hear—but his lips curved faintly, barely a ghost of a smile.

Cas kissed his forehead.

Then his nose.

Then his lips—so lightly it was more breath than touch.

Dean sighed.

And finally, finally, sleep found him.

Not perfect sleep. Not painless. But real.

Cas didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He lay there in the dark, one hand tracing soft circles on Dean’s back, the other laced with his fingers. He watched the rise and fall of his chest like it was the most sacred rhythm in the world.

And maybe it was.

When dawn broke pale and silver through the trees, Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple and whispered:

“I've got you, my love. You are safe. And I will never stop holding you.”

Chapter Text

The air that morning was still and damp with dew. The forest outside buzzed softly with life, but inside the small cottage, time had gone quiet. As if even the walls were holding their breath.

Dean sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, a blanket draped over his shoulders, his hands curled in his lap. He wasn’t looking at anything. Not the flames, not the room around him. Just his fingers. Trembling.

Not like before—when nerves had jerked and spasmed like sparks snapping from a live wire—but something smaller now. Constant. Like static crawling under his skin.

He flexed them slowly. Then closed his eyes.

Behind him, Cas sat with his arms wrapped around Dean’s middle, holding him gently but firmly, his chest warm against Dean’s back. One hand rested over Dean’s heart, the other tucked protectively around his waist. The book he’d been reading lay forgotten beside them. He wasn’t reading now.

He was holding.

Waiting.

Dean breathed in, shallow and slow. Then, without a word, he reached.

Not forward, but inward.

Into the place where fur used to ripple beneath skin, where magic curled like smoke in his veins. Where his familiar bond had once pulsed like a second heartbeat—pure instinct and wild grace.

He reached.

And nothing answered.

The bond faltered. His chest seized. His hands spasmed.

Dean gasped as pain shot down his spine, burning through every nerve. His magic folded in on itself, a collapsed lung inside him. A sob caught in his throat.

“No—no, no—” he whispered, his voice cracking. He clutched at the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself like he could disappear into it. “Why can’t I—”

Cas was already moving, already pulling him closer, wrapping his arms tighter around him from behind like a shield.

“Dean,” he whispered, his voice thick, “my love—”

“I can’t,” Dean choked. “I tried—I can’t shift—Cas, it’s gone—” His breaths came fast, uneven. “I’m broken—”

“No.” Cas pressed his forehead to the back of Dean’s neck. “No, sweetheart.”

Dean didn’t stop shaking.

Cas held on tighter, his voice trembling with love and fury—fury at whatever force had made Dean believe this. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

Dean pressed his fists against his knees, every muscle drawn tight with grief.

“You are not broken, my love,” Cas said, firmer now, his breath hot against Dean’s skin. “You are healing. And healing doesn’t follow rules. It doesn’t care about time or strength. It just takes what it needs.”

Dean’s shoulders shook as he let out a shuddering sob. He leaned back into Cas like falling was the only thing left.

“I feel wrong inside,” he whispered. “Like I’m not me anymore.”

Cas shifted his hands, gently guiding Dean’s to his chest, over his heart.

“You are still you, honey,” he said, voice low and steady. “Still my familiar. My love. My Dean.”

Dean turned his face, pressing it into Cas’s arm. “What if I can’t be?”

“Then I’ll remind you. Every day. Every hour. Every breath.” Cas kissed the top of his head. “Until you remember who you are. Until it feels real again.”

Dean closed his eyes, tears slipping free. “I don’t want to be weak.”

“You’re not,” Cas said softly. “You are the strongest soul I’ve ever known.”

Dean exhaled, shaking, and folded deeper into Cas’s arms like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

And maybe he was.

Cas eased them down, slowly, onto the nest of pillows by the fire. He tugged the blanket away and settled behind Dean again, wrapping his body around him—strong arms, warm breath, steady heartbeat. A fortress of gentleness.

He kissed each tremor where it lived: Dean’s shoulder, his spine, the soft dip behind his ear.

“You are safe,” he whispered.

“You are mine.”

“You are enough.”

“You are made of magic.”

Dean let his eyes fall closed as Cas’s hands moved over him with care, each touch deliberate, reverent. His magic ran slow and golden beneath his skin, soothing Dean’s frayed nerves like a lullaby.

“Even if you never shift again,” Cas murmured, his lips brushing Dean’s temple, “you are still my familiar. And I am still your witch.”

Dean’s voice was barely there. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Cas pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“You could never. You’re the bravest thing this world has ever seen.”

Dean’s breath stuttered—but it didn’t collapse.

The shaking began to ease, bit by bit, like the tide rolling back from the shore.

Later that night, Dean would fall asleep with his head in Cas’s lap, lulled by whispered spells and soft songs meant only for familiars and the witches who love them. But for now, he stayed in Cas’s arms, exhausted and alive, wrapped in something quieter than magic.

Love that asked first.
Held tight.
And never let go.

Chapter Text

The moon hung full and pale over the treetops, casting soft silver across the cottage walls. Inside, a fire whispered low in the hearth. The night should’ve been peaceful.

But Dean thrashed.

His body, still healing, jerked violently beneath the quilt, his breath stuttering into sharp, panicked gasps. He whimpered, his legs twitching, fists clenching so tight his knuckles went white.

Cas was awake in an instant.

“Dean—” He moved fast, leaning over him, hand already pressed to his chest. “Dean, my love, it’s a dream. You’re here. You’re safe—”

Dean’s eyes were still closed, but his mouth opened in a desperate, broken cry. “No—no! Don’t let it—Cas! It burns—!”

He wasn’t awake. But he was in it.

The lightning. The pain. The crack of tree bark splitting in half. Falling. Being torn out of himself.

And drowning in fire.

Cas’s heart slammed into his ribs. “Dean,” he whispered, forcing calm into his voice, even as panic clawed up his own throat. “You’re not there. You’re with me. Right here, my heart.”

Dean gasped sharply—like he couldn’t breathe.

Cas cupped his face gently but firmly. “Dean. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Come on—just like this.”

He inhaled slowly, audibly, letting his chest rise against Dean’s. “Breathe in… and out, baby.”

Dean didn’t respond.

His lips trembled, his whole body shaking under invisible flames.

Cas didn’t wait.

He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, nose brushing nose, letting his magic pulse softly through the bond. “You’re not alone,” he murmured. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Still nothing. Dean’s breath hitched—then stopped altogether in a terrible, choking silence.

“No, Dean!” Cas breathed. He didn’t hesitate. He covered Dean’s mouth with his own, gently but with purpose—exhaling a thread of breath and spellwoven warmth into Dean’s lungs.

Dean jerked, then coughed once, his body still half-asleep, half-trapped. Cas pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes—glassy now, fluttering open in confusion and fear.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was hoarse. Shaky. “It was—burning—I couldn’t—”

“I know, baby,” Cas said quickly, brushing damp hair back from Dean’s forehead. “You were dreaming. It’s over. It’s over.”

Dean’s chest still heaved, breaths shallow and rapid.

Cas gathered him close, pulling him upright into his lap, one hand cradling the back of his neck, the other over his heart. “You’re here with me. You’re breathing. That’s all that matters.”

Dean clutched at Cas’s shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. “I felt it again,” he whispered. “The tree. The fire inside me. I thought—”

“Shh, sweetheart,” Cas soothed. “It’s gone, my love. It’s just memory now. It can’t hurt you again.”

Dean’s limbs were still trembling. Cas reached for a nearby balm, warmed it with a flick of his fingers, and began gently massaging it into the burn scars on Dean’s arms. Each touch was careful, reverent—like he was repairing a shattered relic.

“You’re safe,” Cas murmured between kisses to Dean’s temple. “You’re loved. And you’ll never go through that alone again.”

Dean pressed his face into Cas’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Cas’s voice cracked. “You survived. That’s all I could ever ask.”

They stayed that way for a long time, bodies pressed close, breath finally syncing.

And when Dean finally fell asleep again—this time with Cas’s hand over his heart and a soft, protective charm woven under his ribs—there were no more nightmares.

Only warmth.

Only love.

Only Cas.

Chapter Text

The next evening, the storm that had lingered in the air for days finally broke—quietly this time, like the sky had cried itself out. The clouds drifted away in silence, leaving behind a sky soft with stars and the scent of pine and cooling earth.

Inside the cottage, Cas knelt beside the couch, watching Dean’s chest rise and fall—slow, steady, but still too shallow for his liking.

But Dean’s color had returned, faint though it was. His eyes held light again. And when Cas had asked him—gently—if he felt strong enough to try standing, Dean had given the smallest of nods.

So now, Cas held Dean’s hands carefully as he helped him into a soft hoodie and a pair of loose, magically-lined sweatpants. The fabric shimmered with faint silver runes of protection and warmth, his magic woven into every thread.

Dean leaned into Cas’s chest as they moved to the door.

His legs shook under him, his breath uneven, but he was upright.

“Are you sure, my love?” Cas murmured, lips brushing Dean’s hair. “We can sit. I don’t need to take you out there yet.”

“No,” Dean rasped, looking up at him with tired but determined eyes. “I want to see the sky. I want to… feel something that’s not a bed or a spell.”

Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist, guiding him to the door with infinite patience.

Together, they stepped into the cool night.

Outside, the garden had begun to bloom again. Moonflowers opened under the soft glow of the stars. The wind hummed through the trees like a lullaby. The tree that had been struck— that tree—stood at the edge of the clearing. Scarred, yes. But alive.

Just like Dean.

Dean’s knees buckled slightly, and Cas steadied him, one hand flat against the small of his back. “Breathe slow, sweetheart,” Cas whispered, kissing his temple. “Take your time.”

Dean did.

He tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut, and let the air pass through his lungs like a new ritual.

And then he whispered, “I can feel it.”

Cas blinked. “Feel what?”

Dean lifted a trembling hand. “My magic. Just… a little. Like it’s sleeping under my skin. But it’s there.”

Cas’s heart twisted. Joy. Relief. Wonder. “Dean, honey—” he breathed. “That’s… incredible.”

“I was scared it was gone,” Dean admitted, voice thin but honest. “Like maybe the lightning burned it out of me. Like I was just… broken now.”

Cas turned to face him fully, cupping his cheeks between both hands.

“You are not broken,” he said, voice rich with magic and truth. “You are more than what happened to you. You are still mine. You are still you.”

Dean’s throat worked. “I don’t feel the same.”

“You’re not.” Cas kissed his forehead. “You’re stronger.”

Dean’s eyes watered, and he let his head fall forward against Cas’s chest. “I’m scared.”

“I am too,” Cas whispered into his hair. “But I’d rather walk through fear beside you than live in peace without you.”

They stood there under the stars, wrapped in the hush of the recovering forest, hearts aligned in one slow rhythm.

Then Dean lifted his head. “Will you stay with me out here for a while?”

Cas smiled softly, drawing him toward the padded bench near the firepit. “Forever.”

As they sat, Cas tucked a blanket around Dean’s legs and drew him close again. One hand stayed at Dean’s chest, the other cradled his hand. They sat in silence, watching stars pulse like slow, distant heartbeats.

And somewhere in the stillness, the bond between them flickered.

Not with pain this time. Not with fear.

But with a soft, steady glow.

Alive.

Chapter Text

The morning came softly.

Not with brightness, not with fanfare—but with a hush. A stillness. The kind of gentle hush that follows a long storm, when the world hasn’t quite found its voice again but breathes anyway.

Inside the cottage, the air was steeped in warmth. Lavender still lingered in the corners, a fire burned low in the hearth, and Cas was in the kitchen in a sweater too long in the sleeves, preparing tea he knew Dean might only sip once. But it wasn’t about the tea. It was about being there.

Every clink of the cup was a kind of promise: I’m still here. You’re not alone.

He felt it before he heard it—the tremble in the bond. A ripple of movement, like breath drawn in sleep. He turned.

Dean stood in the hallway.

Sleep-tousled. Barefoot. Wrapped in one of Cas’s thick sweaters that hung almost to his knees. His color had come back slowly these last few days, but this morning it was clearer in his cheeks. His eyes still carried shadows—but they also held something else.

Quiet joy.

“Good morning, baby,” Cas whispered.

Dean stepped forward without answering and walked straight into Cas’s arms, curling into his chest like he belonged there. He always had.

“I missed this,” Dean murmured into the fabric of Cas’s shirt. “Just… standing. And you.”

Cas closed his eyes and held him tighter. “I’ve been right here, sweetheart. Every step.”

Dean nodded. He breathed in slow. And for a while, that was enough.

Then, so softly Cas almost missed it—

“I think I want to try.”

Cas drew back just a little. “Try what, my love?”

Dean looked up with those big, open eyes. “Shifting. Just once. I… I think I can do it again. I feel it under my skin today, like it’s waiting.”

Cas cupped his cheek gently. “Only if you feel safe.”

“I do. With you.”

And that was all Cas needed.

They stepped out into the garden wrapped in sweaters and morning light. The forest was quiet in that holy way it gets sometimes—like everything was listening, holding space.

Dean took one breath. Then another.

And in a soft pulse of gold, he shifted.

Tiny. Bright-eyed. The same familiar squirrel Cas had always loved. But seeing him now—alive, trembling slightly, fur fluffed against the cool—it knocked the breath from Cas’s lungs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, falling to his knees.

The squirrel blinked up at him, tail twitching, and without hesitation, leapt into Cas’s waiting hands.

Cas cradled him like something sacred. Pressed him gently to his chest, over his heart. “You did it, baby. You’re still you. I’m so proud of you.”

The squirrel made a soft, contented sound, then shifted back mid-embrace, and suddenly Dean was curled against him in his human form again—tired, blinking, but smiling.

Cas didn’t even flinch. He just held on tighter.

“You’re back,” he whispered, voice thick. “You’re really back.”

Dean nodded against his collarbone. “It still hurts sometimes. But I feel like me again. I feel like I’m allowed to… be happy.”

Cas leaned his cheek against Dean’s head. “You always were. You just forgot. I’ll remind you as long as it takes.”

Dean’s arms wound around him. “Even if I forget again?”

“I’ll still be here,” Cas said softly. “I’ll wait on the porch in the rain, if I have to. I’ll hold your place in the world for you, every single time.”

They sat together in the garden, tucked under a blanket, the forest slowly waking around them. The wind stirred the leaves gently, the tree at the clearing’s edge creaking like a breath drawn too deep—but it didn’t feel threatening anymore.

It just felt like memory.

Dean reached out and touched Cas’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I never thought I’d feel this safe again,” he whispered.

Cas looked at him like the sunrise was sitting right in his lap. “I want to build a whole life from that feeling.”

Dean’s eyes shimmered. “You already are.”

And later—when the breeze picked up and their tea cooled untouched on the table, when Dean was curled into Cas’s lap and the bond hummed low and warm between them—Cas leaned down and kissed him with all the patience in the world.

“You’re not broken, sweetheart,” he said.

Dean’s voice came quiet, but sure. “I know.”

Later, they walked back toward the tree together—Dean’s steps slow but steady, Cas always close, one hand at Dean’s back.

They stood in the hush of morning light, the scent of earth and pine around them, Dean's heartbeat tucked beneath Cas’s magic thudding softly with his rhythm. They didn’t speak again for a long time.

There was no need.

Love had its own language now—formed in lightning, in breath, in the bond of hands laced tight enough to defy death itself.

And when they finally walked home, Cas never let go.

Not once.

If I lose you again, Cas had whispered once in the dark, when Dean was asleep but twitching with pain, I’ll bring the whole world to its knees to find you.

Dean never heard it.

But somehow, deep in his healing heart, he knew.