Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Location: roadside dive bar, somewhere in Nebraska, 10:13 pm, ten days since Cas disappeared into the Empty

Dean Winchester pushes open the door to the bar.

He’s on his way home from a case in South Dakota. He’s alone. He’d wanted to work solo this time. He needed to get away from Sam and his sympathetic looks.

He’d been on the road for hours when he saw the neon lights and decided to pull in. His stomach’s growling. He can’t remember the last time he ate. Maybe a burrito from a food truck the night before?

The bar’s a real dive. Dean’s boots stick to the floor as he approaches the bar. It’s a long slab of wood that looks like it’s never seen a wet rag, let alone polish. The patrons eye him as he takes a seat on a barstool. He gestures to the barman, who ignores him.

It’s not long before he senses someone behind him.

“You’re in my seat.”

Dean doesn’t turn.

“Don’t see your name on it.”

“All the seats in this bar are mine.”

Normally, at this point Dean would de-escalate. But he’s hurting, and he’s alone. No Sam. No one to make him back down. And he doesn’t want to, anyway. That reckless streak he’s always had is urging him to stand up to this asshole.

“Really? Ever hear of a mop?”

Before he can react, the guy grabs the back of Dean’s head and slams his face into the bar. Which hurts like a bitch. Dean raises his head slowly, blinking against the pain, blood dripping from his mouth and a cut across the bridge of his nose.

He stands. Turns. The guy is massive. Easily Sam’s height, and bulky. But Dean’s fought monsters, and despite this guy’s size, he’s only human. Dean smiles through blood slicked teeth. And punches the guy in the face.

He rocks back slightly, and retaliates with a head butt, which could have ended things right there if Dean didn’t duck down and twist to the side, driving his fist into the giant’s kidney.

Dean’s about to follow up when someone grabs him from behind. He pushes off the floor, kicks the giant in the chest with both boots, and uses his backwards momentum to crush the man who grabbed him, his elbow cracking one of the guy’s ribs.

He makes it halfway to his feet, only to meet a fist that cracks across his jaw, sending him back down to the floor. He doesn’t let the blow rattle him, rolling away and getting to his feet.

Dean’s now facing four opponents. One guy’s on the ground, clutching his ribs. The giant and three of his buddies are still standing. Dean’s faced worse odds, but he’s already tired from the case and the long drive. Still, he straightens, spitting blood onto the floor.

All four of them charge him at once.

He fights hard, dodging blows, blocking others on his forearms or with his shoulder, but the attack is relentless. Two of them get through his defences, grab him, and slam him down on his back, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He’s gasping on the floor when the giant reaches down, tangles a hand in his hair, and pulls him to his knees.

The first blow splits his lip. The second cracks across his cheek hard enough to knock him down again. He’s dragged back up for another punch that opens a cut above his eyebrow, sending blood running down the side of his face.

Just when Dean thinks he can’t take anymore, the blows stop. He’s hauled upright, coughing, his head hanging, blood dripping from his jaw and chin onto his shirt, and marched out of the door. Then thrown down the stairs.

He lands hard in the mud, the cool, wet dirt soaking into his jeans and jacket. There’s no grand speech by his opponents. The message is obvious. They just turn and walk back into the bar, leaving Dean lying there.

It takes a while, but eventually his head stops swimming enough to attempt to stand. He makes it to his hands and knees, spitting dirt from his mouth. Pauses for a moment before gritting his teeth, getting his feet under him and standing shakily, wiping mud and blood from his face with his sleeve.

Slowly, he makes his way over to Baby. Gets carefully into the driver’s seat. Rests for a moment with his forehead on the steering wheel.

He’s only got himself to blame for all this. He baited the giant. He knows he should’ve walked away. Cas would’ve wanted him to walk away.

Dean’s breath hitches in something close to a sob. He scrubs angrily at his eyes. He hates feeling like this. Nearly hates Cas for leaving him here (he could never hate Cas). He can almost see Cas there in the passenger seat, blue eyes soft. It hurts. Far worse than the bruises.

It’s a long time before he starts the car and gets back on the road.

Somewhere in the void, Castiel’s eyes snap open.

Scene: The Empty, where time doesn’t matter, and Castiel confronts The Shadow

The Shadow stands before Castiel. It’s chosen to wear Castiel’s own face this time.

“We had a deal,” it says.

Castiel inclines his head.

“We did.”

“I spared the nephilim in exchange for you.”

“I’m not yours.”

The Shadow regards him thoughtfully.

“It appears the Winchester boy is somehow . . . anchoring you to his world.”

“Yes,” Castiel says simply.

“Then perhaps the solution is simple. I will bring him here.”

Castiel steps forward, fists clenching.

“He’s human,” he says fiercely. “You have no jurisdiction over him.”

The Shadow smiles.

“Then we are at an impasse.”

“It would seem that way,” Castiel says.

Scene: motel, somewhere in Nebraska, 1:37 am, a bruised hunter trying to hold himself together

The motel’s a little rundown, but it’s cleaner than some of the ones Dean’s stayed at over the years. He’s not picky. The night clerk didn’t even blink at Dean’s appearance when she handed over the key. And Dean’s definitely looked better.

He’s examining his reflection in the mirror now. He looks like hell. He’s covered in drying mud and blood. Underneath the dirt on his skin, bruises bloom across his cheek and jaw. His knuckles are raw and split.

He strips off his ruined clothes and runs the shower as hot as he can take it. Stands under the spray for what feels like hours but is actually only ten minutes, dirt and blood swirling down the drain. Gets out of the shower and wraps himself in a towel. Doesn’t look in the mirror again.

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, the fresh cuts and bruises on his face throbbing. He’s exhausted, but he doubts he’ll be able to sleep. If he closes his eyes he’ll see blue eyes and tousled dark hair and he just can’t.

It’s worse than last time, when Lucifer killed Cas. Because this time, Dean knows. He keeps replaying those last minutes in the bunker, Cas’s face wet with tears, saying the words that Dean had never been brave enough to say. And he’d frozen. Unable to say it back. Even knowing it was his last chance.

Eventually, he gets up. Pulls on sweatpants and a soft grey t-shirt. Grabs the first aid kit and stands in front of the mirror again. Sucks in a breath as he dabs antiseptic on the cut over his eyebrow, which is red and angry. The bruises on his face are already darkening. His shoulder is bruising and starting to stiffen.

He really can’t keep getting into these sorts of fights. His body doesn’t bounce back quickly like it did when he was in his twenties.

Dean swallows a couple of anti-inflammatories and painkillers, then returns to the bed. He should try to get some rest. He’s got a long drive ahead of him in the morning.

When it finally comes, sleep is blissfully nightmare free. Almost as though the world has decided he’s suffered enough for one day.

Scene: the bunker’s library, 2:51 pm, two weeks after the bar fight  

Dean’s slipping.

He hasn’t left the bunker in the last two weeks. He’s barely sleeping, eating little, and drinking too much whiskey. The cuts and bruises from the bar fight have faded, but he still looks rough.

When Dean showed up at the bunker two weeks ago looking like he’d gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight and lost hard, Sam had assumed the injuries had happened during the case. Dean hadn’t corrected him. He couldn’t deal with one of Sam’s lectures. Not then. Not now, either.

Dean knows Sam’s worried. He keeps giving Dean these looks when he thinks Dean won’t notice. But he doesn’t say anything. He probably knows Dean won’t talk.

Dean’s in the library one afternoon, flipping through a lore book without reading it when it happens.

The radio, which had been playing something old and soft in the background, flickers to static. And faintly, barely there, he hears it. One word.

“Dean.”

Dean startles, knocking the book to the floor in his haste to get to his feet. He’d recognise that voice anywhere. He goes to the radio, which is still staticky.

“Cas?” His voice is raw.  

The radio goes silent.

Dean sinks to his knees on the cold, hard floor, and doesn’t get up for a long time.

Scene: the Empty, just after Cas got a message through the veil  

The Shadow stands before Castiel again, this time wearing Dean’s face.

That hurts. The features are right – Dean’s green eyes, the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, dark blonde hair tousled. But it’s not him. He’s missing that confidence, the spark of determination in his eyes.

“He’s pulling at you,” the Shadow says.

“I know. I can feel it. He’s hurting.”

“You’re trying to go to him.”

Castiel looks at the Shadow steadily. Defiantly. He’s not going to give up on Dean. They’ve found ways around bargains like this before.

“Of course I am. I’ll always keep trying.”

“We had a deal,” the Shadow reminds him. “You need to pay the price.”

“I am paying it,” Castiel says bitterly. “And so is Dean.”

Scene: the War Room, 2:39 am, a week after Cas’s voice came through the radio  

Dean can’t sleep. Again.

The bunker is quiet, apart from the usual background noise of its various systems and wards. Sam’s in his room, probably asleep. Dean’s slumped at the map table, a bottle of whiskey in front of him.

He thinks Cas is haunting him.

He’s seeing and hearing things that aren’t there. The hem of a trench coat disappearing around a corner. Cas’s voice through a hum of static on the Impala’s radio. A glimpse of blue eyes in the side mirror.

His nerves are shot. He hasn’t slept in three days. His eyes look bruised, his skin pale.

He barely speaks to Sam. Dean’s heard his brother on the phone late at night. He knows Sam’s talking to someone (Jody? Donna? Claire?) about him.

Dean knows this isn’t healthy. That he can’t keep on like this. But he doesn’t know how to stop.

He doesn’t know how to let Cas go.

Scene: the Empty, a new bargain being negotiated  

“You’re breaking through.” The Shadow is wearing Castiel’s face again. It sounds annoyed. “You need to stop.”

Castiel smiles.

“I won’t.”

The Shadow’s eyes narrow.

“I can make you stop.”

“If you could, you would have by now.” Castiel pauses. “I’d like to propose an amendment to our agreement.”

“You’re in no position to bargain, angel.”

“You’re wrong. I know you want peace and quiet, and you can’t get that while I’m here. So let me go.”

The Shadow laughs.

“That’s bold, even from you, Castiel.”

“You can keep my grace. I’ll become human.”

The Shadow pauses. Tilts its head in an eerie imitation of Castiel.

“Keep talking.”

Chapter Text

Scene: Bunker garage and the War Room, 5:53 pm, a little over a month since Cas disappeared into the Empty

Dean is down in the garage tinkering with Baby when the wards chime and he faintly hears the main door to the bunker close. He pushes himself out from under the car and listens for a moment. There’s no other sound. No alarms going off. No one talking.

Maybe Sam’s back early from his hunt with Eileen. Dean moves quietly through the bunker, stopping in his room to collect his gun and knife. The wards wouldn’t have let in someone they didn’t know, but Dean’s been in this game long enough to know it pays to be careful.

He enters the War Room cautiously. Stops dead two paces in.

The figure stands at the foot of the stairs, his back to Dean, but Dean would know him anywhere. The set of his broad shoulders. The tousled dark hair.

Dean must make some small sound, because Cas turns.

“Hello, Dean.”

The voice is right. The small smile playing around his lips. Those piercing blue eyes. But this can’t be real. It’s another hallucination, born from grief and loneliness. It’s almost a relief, knowing that he’s finally cracked all the way.

“You’re not real.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You can’t . . . You’re not here.”

Cas takes a few steps towards him. Stops when they’re close enough to touch.

“I’m real,” he says softly.

Dean reaches out slowly, his hand trembling. Afraid that, despite his words, Cas will disappear if Dean breathes wrong. That the world will realise its mistake and take him back. His fingers brush against the warm skin of Cas’s cheek.

Dean’s knees give out.

Cas catches him, stopping him from falling. Dean buries his face in Cas’s trench coat, his hands grabbing fistfuls of fabric, his nose full of Cas’s summer storm scent. Cas’s arms are around him, his hands steady on Dean’s back.

“You let it take you,” Dean says into Cas’s neck, forcing back the tears that are threatening to spill.

“I came back. I always come back to you.”

And Dean can’t stop the tears anymore.

Cas holds him as he breaks down, murmuring softly, his voice rumbling through Dean’s chest soothingly. His hand is on the back of Dean’s head, fingers in Dean’s hair.

Finally, Dean calms, the front of Cas’s trench coat wet with his tears. But he doesn’t pull away. They’re closer than they’ve ever allowed themselves to be, and Dean doesn’t want it to end. So he keeps clinging to Cas like a drowning man. Cas’s lips brush across his temple in the barest hint of a kiss, and Dean’s breath hitches.

“How?” he asks, his voice raw. “How are you here?”

“The Empty . . . it couldn’t hold me. Not when part of me was here. With you.”

Dean pulls back a little so he can look at Cas’s face.

“Here?”

Cas puts a hand on Dean’s chest, right over his heart, which is still beating fast.

“Your soul. I could feel it, Dean. Like an anchor, guiding me back here. To you.” Cas brushes his fingers lightly over Dean’s jaw. “Although . . . not all of me came back.”

“What d’you mean?” Dean wants to lean into Cas’s touch. Doesn’t dare. He’s still scared this is all a dream.

“My grace. I had to leave it behind. I’m human.”

“So we get it back.” This, Dean can deal with. Something practical. A mission. He doesn’t know what to do with whatever else is going on here. This need to touch Cas like he needs air.

“No.” Cas’s voice is firm. “Angels aren’t meant to escape the Empty, and I’ve done it twice now. I’ve been human before. I can do it again.”

“But . . .”

“Dean. Haven’t we earned some peace?”

Dean pauses. He’s tired. Cas looks exhausted, his blue eyes red-rimmed. They’ve both been through too much. Maybe it’s time to slow down. To just . . . be.

“Yeah. Guess we have.” He swallows hard. “So . . . uh, this. I mean, us. What are we now?”

Cas’s smile is soft.

“We’ve got time to figure that out. I’m not going anywhere.”

Scene: Bunker kitchen, 7:38 pm, twenty minutes after Dean left Cas in the bathroom with a towel and a stack of clean clothes

Dean stands in front of the fridge, taking inventory of its contents. There isn’t a lot. He needs to do a supply run.

Back in the War Room, he’d eventually peeled himself away from Cas. They’d parted at the door to the bathroom, Dean handing over a fresh towel and a stack of clothes he’d pulled from his own closet. Then he’d gone to splash water on his face and find food.

Dean gets a pot of coffee started – Cas drank it at all hours last time he was human, with no discernible effect – and pulls eggs out of the fridge. He’s whisking eggs with milk to make omelettes when Cas enters the kitchen.

His hair’s wet and tousled from the shower. He’s wearing a pair of Dean’s jeans and an old, soft flannel shirt. He looks softer like this. Like he’s shed his armour.

Without saying anything, Cas joins Dean at the counter. Dean nudges a coffee mug towards him. Black, one teaspoon of sugar.

Cas picks up the mug. Takes a sip and closes his eyes.

“You remembered.”

Dean focusses resolutely on the eggs.

“Course I did,” he mutters into the bowl.

They don’t speak as Dean finishes whisking the eggs and adding them to the pan. Cas drinks his coffee, watching Dean’s movements around the kitchen. But they don’t keep their usual careful distance, either. Dean’s shoulder brushes against Cas’s as he returns to the fridge for cheese. Their fingers touch as Dean passes Cas a plate of buttered toast.

“How’s Sam?” Cas asks as they sit at the table, plates of omelette in front of them.

“Off with Eileen,” Dean says around a mouthful of egg. “I’ll call him later. Tell him you’re back.”

“I always liked Eileen,” Cas says. “She’s good for Sam.”

“Yeah. She is.”

They’re quiet while they eat. Dean stares at his plate when he finishes. He’s not quite able to look at Cas. It’s all catching up with him.

“Are you okay?”

Dean lets out a bitter laugh.

“Define okay.”

There’s a long pause. Dean still doesn’t look up.

“I understand, Dean.”

“Do you? ‘Cause you weren’t here, Cas. I had to find a way to just . . . keep goin’. After you said what you said. I didn’t . . . I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“I was there,” Cas says quietly. “In the silence. It wasn’t like last time. I was awake. I could feel you calling out for me, but I couldn’t . . . I was trying so hard to get back to you, Dean.”

Dean runs his hand down his face. Looks across at Cas, who looks shattered.

“How do we heal from this?” Dean’s voice cracks. “What happened . . . you said that, and then you were gone, and something in me broke.”

Cas reaches across the table, rests his hand over Dean’s, his eyes wet. After a moment, Dean turns his hand palm up and grips Cas’s fingers.

“I didn’t want it to be like that,” Cas says, his voice rough. “I didn’t want it to be a burden.”

“I know, Cas. But Chuck, or whoever was pulling Billie’s strings . . . why did they have to do that to us? Why couldn’t we have had that?”

Cas’s thumb draws soothing circles on the back of Dean’s hand.

“Chuck’s gone,” he says after a while. “I think this is the universe giving us a chance.”

Dean looks across the table at his angel and thinks maybe. Maybe this is how they heal. With soft words and touches and shared meals.

And slowly, the pieces of his heart start stitching back together.

Scene: Dean’s room, 10:21 pm, cautious intimacy and words finally spoken

They clean up the kitchen. Spend a while in the library. Dean puts the radio on, tunes it to a station that plays old, soft music, and pours them each a measure of whiskey. They don’t say much. On the radio, Elvis sings about wanting you, needing you, loving you.

Dean’s fairly sure he could fall asleep in the wing-back chair, the whiskey and music and Cas’s calm presence next to him soothing. But he knows if he does he’ll be stiff in the morning, so he gets to his feet and offers Cas a hand.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed,” he says as Cas stands. “You look exhausted.”

Dean leads Cas to his own room. They pause in the hallway.

“Stay with me.” It’s not a question. Dean knows he won’t be able to sleep without Cas next to him tonight. He still isn’t ready to let Cas out of his sight. Maybe he never will be.

“I’m flattered you think I could perform after hauling myself out of the void and then walking fifteen miles to get here.”

Dean flushes. He never thought he’d see this side of Cas. He didn’t know this side of Cas existed.

“To sleep.” He gives Cas a look. “But I think you knew that.”

Cas smiles softly and follows Dean into the room. And suddenly, Dean’s nervous. This is new territory. He hasn’t shared a bed with someone like this since . . . he doesn’t even know.

He sits on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, then gets stuck staring at his socked feet. Swallows hard.

“What you said before it . . . before the Empty took you,” he says, voice low. “I kept playing it over and over in my head.”

Cas just listens, watching Dean intently.

“You said . . . you said all that stuff and I . . . I didn’t even get to say it back.”

Cas sits down next to Dean.

“You don’t need to say it, Dean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Dean takes an unsteady breath. “I don’t say it much. And most of the times I have it’s been to pie. Or Baby. Once to Bobby when I was drunk and he pretended not to hear.”

He pauses. Breathes. Continues.

“I spent a long time running from it, Cas. Denying it. Lying to myself and to everyone else. Then I lost you.” He looks up at Cas then. “All I could think about over the last month was that I’d never told you I loved you. So. I’m telling you now. I love you.”

For a moment they just sit there. Cas’s eyes are very bright. A tear runs down Dean’s face and he swipes it away. He’s done with crying.

“I knew,” Cas says gently. “I didn’t want to force you into a confession that you weren’t ready for. But I knew, Dean.”

Dean reaches for Cas’s hand. Holds on.

“I didn’t think I deserved you,” Dean says, his voice cracking.

“You did. You do.” Cas’s thumb rubs over the back of Dean’s hand soothingly. “We’ve both made mistakes. We both have regrets. Don’t you think we deserve a chance at being happy?”

Dean rests his head against Cas’s shoulder.

“The fallen angel and the jaded hunter.” He huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Sounds like a bad porno.”

“It sounds like us.”

They don’t kiss. Dean’s too raw for that right now, and Cas seems content with Dean’s hand in his. Eventually, Dean stirs.

“If we stay like this much longer, I’m gonna fall asleep with you as my pillow.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Dean snorts.

“You say that now, but wait ‘til you’ve spent a bit more time in that middle aged body. Then you’ll be all about the memory foam.”

Dean stands. Pulls his t-shirt over his head. Drops it on the floor. Cas watches. Doesn’t try to touch. Slowly unbuttons his own shirt and slips it off his shoulders. Pointedly folds it over the back of the chair. Dean can’t help staring at Cas’s bare chest, earning him a level look.

“What? I’m tired, not dead.”

Cas raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Dean sheds his jeans and climbs into bed in his underwear. A moment later, Cas follows. He pulls Dean close, their legs tangling, bare skin comfortingly warm.

“Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning,” Dean says, reaching up to brush Cas’s hair off his forehead.

Cas presses a soft kiss to Dean’s jaw.

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

Scene: Dean’s room and bunker kitchen, 8:13 am, after eight hours of blissfully nightmare-free sleep

Dean wakes to an empty bed.

Panic sets in as he scans the room. There’s no sign of Cas. The shirt he hung over the back of the chair is gone. The other side of the bed is cold.

It can’t have been a dream. Dean won’t survive it if it was.

He gets out of bed. Pulls on the t-shirt he discarded the night before. Doesn’t bother with his jeans. Pads out into the hallway on bare feet.

The bunker is quiet. Dean swallows hard against the rising fear. Cas is probably in the library. Or the War Room.

He checks both, but they’re empty. He’s about to go down to the garage when he hears a sound from the kitchen.

Cas is standing at the stove, poking at something in a pan, wearing last night’s shirt and boxers. Dean has to lean against the doorframe when his knees sag in relief. Once he’s sure they’ll bear his weight, he joins Cas and looks down at the charred remains of what might once have been bacon.

“I was trying to make you breakfast.”

“Yeah, that’s beyond saving.” Dean picks up the pan and scrapes the contents into the bin. “C’mon. I’ll show you how to make pancakes.”

Cas has at least managed to make coffee without burning the place down. Dean fetches himself a mug, then gets out eggs, milk and flour. He shows Cas how to make the batter, then cooks the first pancake before handing the angel the spatula.

Which goes fine until it comes to flipping the pancake. Cas uses too much force, and the pancake goes sailing though the air. And lands right on Dean’s head.

“Little less uh . . . enthusiasm next time,” Dean says, picking half cooked pancake out of his hair with a wince.

Cas’s second attempt ends up on Dean’s t-shirt, and when the third hits his cheek he begins to suspect Cas is doing it on purpose.

“Okay, I’m revoking your spatula privileges,” Dean says.

“It’s harder than it looks,” Cas says, but he really doesn’t look sorry.

Dean shoots him a look and finishes cooking the rest of the batch. By the time the pancakes are done, there’s batter in his hair and smeared across his cheek, and Cas has flour smudged along his jaw.

Dean goes still when Cas steps in close and reaches up to wipe the batter off Dean’s cheek, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

“Breakfast’s gonna get cold,” Dean eventually manages to get out.

Cas smiles and goes to the fridge for the syrup. Collects a plate and sits at the table like he didn’t just short-circuit Dean’s brain. After a moment, Dean joins him. Cas hooks one ankle around Dean’s, their feet tangling together under the table.

The pancakes taste even better than usual.

Scene: the War Room, 10:46 am, after Dean showers to get the pancake batter out of his hair

Dean taps the call button and raises his phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dean. We’re on our way to interview a victim’s friend, so you’ll have to be quick, man.”

“Cas is back.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“You sure it’s him?” Sam sounds suspicious. Default setting for him, really.

“Yeah, I’m sure. He . . . said I’m his anchor.”

An even longer pause this time.

“Are you okay?”

Dean looks up at the ceiling and debates how to answer that question.

“I . . . I think I will be.”

Dean hears Eileen calling Sam back to bed.

“An interview, huh?” Dean smirks, even though Sam can’t see him.

“Shut up. We needed some time together.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. Take as much time as you need. Just remember to use protection. I’m too young to be an uncle.”

Sam hangs up on him.

Scene: grocery store, Lebanon, 11:37 am, armed with a shopping list

Cas squints down at Dean’s shopping basket.

“There aren’t any vegetables in here.”

Dean throws a pack of jerky at him. Cas catches it and looks at it like it might explode.

“Got all the food groups. Beer, bacon, and pie.”

“I’m concerned for your arteries.” A pause. “And mine, too. Humans can’t easily  metabolise this amount of cholesterol.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get you a salad. You’re as bad as Sam.”

The fresh produce section is like a foreign country. Dean doesn’t know what half the stuff is. He and Cas debate the merits of different varieties of tomatoes, and Cas sneaks two types of artisan cheese into the basket when Dean’s not looking. Dean retaliates with ice cream.

On the drive home, Dean opens the window. Cranks the radio, which is playing an old REO Speedwagon song. Sings along as loudly as he can, deliberately badly. Cas looks out the passenger window, a small smile playing on his lips, stealing the occasional glance at Dean across the bench seat. Dean grins at him, the wind ruffling his hair.

It’s almost normal.

They make grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee when they get home. Well, Dean does. He doesn’t trust Cas near the hot plate after the pancake incident. They spend the rest of the day googling what to do with the vegetables they bought. Competing to see who can find the most obscure recipe (Cas wins after finding an archaic cookbook in the library, because of course he does).

It’s nice. Domestic.

Dean thinks he could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Scene: the woods near the bunker, 4:45 pm, not long after a rain shower, a week after Cas returned

It’s been raining on and off. Dean and Cas have spent most of the day digging through lore for Sam, who actually is now on a hunt with Eileen. Dean suspects he’s staying away to give him and Cas time.

It’s Cas who suggests a walk. He’s still haunted by his time in the Empty, although he’s less pale and the lines around his eyes aren’t as pronounced. He needs the time outside to remember what freedom’s like.

They take the path from the garage. Dean eyes the grey sky.

“Do you want to turn back?” Cas asks.

“Do you?”

“I don’t mind the rain,” Cas says.

Dean takes his hand.

“Then let’s keep goin’.”

They don’t say anything after that. It’s not long before Dean feels the first fat raindrop hit his arm. And then suddenly it’s a deluge, both of them instantly soaked.

Cas stops. Tilts his head back, water streaming down his face. Dean watches him as he closes his eyes, his hair plastered to his forehead. His shirt – the white one he always used to wear under that trench coat, and that he wears now casually, with the sleeves rolled up his forearms – is transparent and clinging to him.

For a moment, Dean forgets to breathe.

“You’re so damn beautiful.”

He doesn’t realise he’s spoken aloud until Cas lowers his head. Opens his eyes and looks straight into Dean’s. He steps closer. Lifts his hand to cup Dean’s jaw.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice low. “And I will.”

Dean doesn’t.

Cas leans in and kisses him.

The kiss is soft, almost chaste, closed-mouthed and achingly sweet. The rain continues to fall around them, but neither of them care. Dean’s hands are in Cas’s wet hair. Cas’s arms are around Dean, holding him like he’ll never let go.

They break the kiss before it can become something more. Dean rests his forehead against Cas’s, their breath mingling. Runs his hands over Cas’s broad shoulders, down to his hips, feeling the lean muscle under his soaked shirt. Rainwater drips off Cas’s eyelashes, his blue eyes almost ethereal against the weather.

They stay like that as the rain eases to mist, then stops completely. Both just breathing. Water drips down Dean’s face and off his jaw and chin. A stray sunbeam catches the drops on Cas’s skin, refracting the light so that he seems to glow.

“Can we stay a little longer?” Cas asks softly.

“Yeah. Course. Whatever you need.”

They keep walking down the path, no fixed destination in mind. Dean’s soaked and uncomfortable, but he can’t deny Cas this. He doesn’t think he could deny Cas anything. Not after the way he kissed Dean, like he was something precious.

Dean’s kissed dozens of women. Mostly he’d enjoyed it (except that chick who bit him hard enough to draw blood. Dean doesn’t judge, but he had not been into that). Mostly it had led to a lot more. But Dean had never been kissed the way Cas had just kissed him, with the rain falling around them like something out of a romance movie.

He steals glances at Cas while they walk. His dark hair is wild, curling slightly around his ears as it dries. He looks more relaxed than Dean’s ever seen him. He’s losing some of that intense focus. Softening a little at the edges.

By the time they return to the bunker, Cas is shivering slightly in the breeze that has picked up. Dean’s not exactly warm in his wet clothes, but he pushes Cas towards the bathroom for the first shower.

“I’m fine,” Cas says. “You go.”

“You want me to wrestle you in there?”

Cas lifts his chin defiantly.

“Do you think you could?”

Dean shrugs. He’s got a couple of inches on Cas in height, and he’s a bit heavier, but the angel’s not exactly a lightweight. They’re fairly evenly matched.

“Maybe not, but I reckon I’d enjoy trying.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. Dean leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest with a smirk.

“Fine,” Cas says eventually. “I’ll concede. This time.”

They go their separate ways – Cas to the bathroom, Dean to the kitchen. He’s slicing mushrooms (which he actually doesn’t hate, despite his grumbling) when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns.

“That was . . .”

He trails off. Cas is shirtless, towel-drying his hair in the doorway, jeans sitting low on his hips, a few drops of water still clinging to his bare chest. Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Your turn,” Cas says, looking smug.

“You couldn’t just let me have the win, could you?”

“I learned from the best.”

Dean flips him off as he passes on his way to the bathroom. Cas’s answering laugh follows him down the hall.

Chapter Text

Scene: TV room, 1:48 pm, a few days after the kiss in the rain

Dean’s lying on the couch, his head in Cas’s lap, pretending to read a car magazine. Cas has taken an ancient volume from the library. In Latin. Dean suspects he’s only pretending to read, too. The page turns are suspiciously slow.

Eventually, Dean tosses the magazine onto the floor.

“You want pizza tonight?”

Cas hums and turns another page.

“And a movie?”

Another non-committal hum. Maybe he actually is reading that book. Dean sits up.

“Or you could bend me over the desk in the library.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on,” Cas says, eyes never leaving his book.

Dean swings one leg over Cas, straddling him. He plucks the book from Cas’s hands and sets it aside on the couch.

“Who says I can’t deliver?” he says, his lips against Cas’s neck. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

“Dean.” Cas’s head tips back against the couch as Dean licks his neck. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“It’s not s’posed to be difficult.”

Cas puts a hand on Dean’s chest and pushes him back gently.

“I’m trying to take things slow. You’ve never been intimate with a man before.”

“What, and you have?”

He means it as a joke, but when Cas doesn’t answer, just looks at him steadily, he realises. And even though he has no right to be immediately jealous, something dark curls in his chest. He shoves it down. He’s the one who kissed women in front of Cas, after all.

“Probably a good thing one of us has some experience,” he mutters, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“I don’t think you’re . . . we’re ready for sex yet, Dean.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Cas reaches up. Grips Dean’s chin in his hand and forces him to look at him.

“If you had any idea how much I’ve wanted you over the last decade, and how much self-restraint I’ve had to exercise, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

Dean goes completely still. He could pull away from Cas’s grip, but he doesn’t want to. Cas is magnetic like this, all piercing blue eyes and steel jaw. He looks like he’s barely in control right now.

“This is still new, Dean. I don’t want to move too fast. This is too important to rush. You’re too important.”

Dean lets out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Yeah, I guess . . . You’re right. This is new for me. I’m normally a one night stand kinda guy.”

“I’d noticed,” Cas says dryly.

There’s a pause.

“So, slow,” Dean says. He leans in until his lips are nearly touching Cas’s. “Does that mean I can’t kiss you right now?”

Cas’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are locked on Dean’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Dean says with a grin, and closes the rest of the distance.

There’s heat in this kiss. Cas’s tongue sweeps into Dean’s mouth, and he makes a sound that’s definitely not a whimper. Dean’s hands are in Cas’s hair. Cas’s hands are up under Dean’s shirt, holding him in place.

They’re both breathing a little harder when they come up for air. Dean’s heart is thumping in his chest, so loud he thinks Cas must be able to hear it. And Cas . . . he’s flushed, hair a mess, half his shirt buttons undone (when had that happened?) to display a distracting amount of bare skin.

Dean scrambles off Cas. He needs to put some distance between them, or he won’t be responsible for what happens next.

“Was that your version of slow?” Cas asks dryly as he buttons his shirt and attempts to tame his hair.

“I don’t have my fingers inside you right now, so yeah, that’s slow.”

Cas tips his head back against the couch and closes his eyes.

“That image is not helping, Dean.”

Dean grins.

“Y’know, I think I’m gonna like this whole going slow thing.”

Chapter Text

Scene: a strip mall in a nearby town, 3:25 pm, two weeks after Cas returned

“I’m takin’ you shopping.”

Cas looks up from the ancient scroll he’s studying.

“For what?”

“Clothes. I’m sick of you stealin’ mine.”

Cas does that head tilt.

“I like wearing your clothes.”

Dean huffs out a breath.

“Yeah, I kinda like you wearing them, too,” he says quickly. “But my closet’s not big enough for both of us.”

Cas slides the scroll to one side and stands.

“What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a few places in the next town over. We can start there.”

Dean didn’t think this through.

They’d been into a large department store and got the basics – jeans, t-shirts, underwear, casual shirts and a couple of jackets. Two pairs of boots. Then Cas had spotted a more upmarket store and wanted to go in.

So now Dean’s leaning against the wall watching Cas, who’s wearing a pair of fitted dark jeans that should come with a warning, and a blue shirt that brings out his eyes. He’s standing in front of the mirror, head tilted slightly, considering his reflection seriously.

The shop assistant, a young woman with pink highlights in her short blonde hair, comes to stand next to Dean.

“Your partner looks hot in those jeans,” she says.

“He’s not . . .” Dean’s immediate denial trails off. Cas deserves better than Dean lying about their relationship. “Yeah, he does.”

She regards Cas thoughtfully.

“Wait here. I have an idea.”

She goes off among the racks and returns with a grey, tailored jacket. She hands it to Cas, who looks at it for a moment before shrugging into it.

Dean’s mind goes completely blank.

“What do you think?” The assistant looks over at him. He must give something away in his expression because she grins. “Thought so.”

“Dean?” Cas turns away from the mirror and looks over.

“I . . . uh.” Dean can’t get his brain back online.

Cas has always been handsome, in a slightly dishevelled way. But now . . . the jacket fits like it was made for him. The jeans hug his legs in all the right places. His hair is perfectly tousled. Dean can’t tear his eyes away.

“I think we broke your boyfriend,” the shop assistant says to Cas.

Cas raises an eyebrow, looking amused.

“Those jeans should be illegal,” Dean finally manages to get out.

They buy the entire outfit.

Chapter Text

Scene: library, 10:47 pm, where Dean finds out that he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is

Sam and Eileen return a week after the shopping trip.

They walk into the library, where Dean and Cas are debating an eggplant recipe Cas found in one of the cookbooks (Dean’s a hard no, and nothing Cas says can convince him otherwise). They’re sitting close, Dean with one arm draped casually over the back of Cas’s chair. Dean sees Sam notice. Also sees him decide not to say anything.

There are hugs, and questions about the drive and the hunt. Sam looks tired but happy. Relaxed, despite the hunt and the long drive home.

After a while, Cas and Eileen head to bed, signing between themselves, and leave the brothers together.  

Dean stands and goes over to the side table. Pours them each a shot of whiskey. Sam takes a glass. For a while, they sit there next to each other like they’ve done countless times before.

“So,” Sam starts. “You and Cas.”

Dean immediately bristles.

“You got a problem?”

Sam looks hurt.

“When have I ever given you the impression I’d have a problem with you being with him?”

Dean winces.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just . . . I wasn’t sure you’d be okay with it. And I know you’re not homophobic or anything. But I guess it hits a bit different when it’s your brother.”

Sam leans forward, that earnest expression on his face.

“Dean. You love each other. I’m happy for you.” His mouth twists into a smirk. “Took you long enough, though.”

“Wait . . . you knew?”

“The guy at the checkout at the grocery store knew. You literally swooned into Cas’s arms that time.”

Yeah, Dean remembers that. He tripped. Cas caught him. And, okay, maybe Dean had stayed in Cas’s arms a beat too long before pulling away and making a joke. He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed.

“I didn’t swoon,” Dean mutters.

“It was a full-on Jane Austen moment.” Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle. We all knew. Me. Eileen. Jody, Donna, Claire.” His voice drops. “Bobby.”

Dean swallows hard.

“Bobby . . . was he . . . did he . . .”

“He wanted to lock you both in his panic room and make you figure it out. Yeah, he was cool with it.” Sam pauses. “We all just wanted you . . . both of you to be happy.”

Dean looks down at the glass in his hands.

“I’ve been thinking. About me and Cas, and all the years we could’ve had together.” He pauses. “I think . . . the time’s right now. If we’d gotten together sooner, maybe it wouldn’t’ve worked out. We were at war, and . . . I dunno.”

“I get what you’re saying, Dean. Maybe you’re right.” Sam throws back the rest of his whiskey and stands. Dean gets to his feet too. “Either way, I’m glad you found your way to each other.”

“Thanks, Sammy. It . . . means a lot.”

Dean reaches out and pulls his brother into a hug. Sam gives Dean a smile before he heads down the hallway to his room.

Scene: Dean’s room, 11:13 pm, a hunter on a mission

Dean enters his room to find Cas sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard. He’s wearing a soft grey t-shirt and reading a poetry book, squinting a little (Dean suspects he needs glasses). He looks up as Dean closes the door.

“Is Sam okay?”

Dean knows what he’s asking.

“Yeah, he’s cool.”

Cas nods and goes back to his book. They don’t speak as Dean strips off his clothes and climbs into bed in his boxers. He tucks himself against Cas’s side, and Cas wraps an arm around him.

They stay like that for a while, Cas turning pages occasionally. The silence is comfortable. They don’t need to say anything.

Dean nuzzles into Cas’s neck, his lips finding Cas’s pulse. Cas’s breath hitches.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“What does it feel like?” Dean’s lips are at Cas’s jaw now. “I’m done with going slow.”

Cas sets the book down on his lap. Tangles a hand in Dean’s hair and gently pulls him away so they’re looking at each other.

“Are you sure?” Cas says, voice low and full of gravel.

Dean cups Cas’s face in one hand.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I want this, Cas. I want you.”

Cas kisses him.

Later, when they’re both flushed and disheveled and Dean’s on his back with Cas moving above him, Cas whispers his name like a prayer. And Dean unravels.

Scene: kitchen, 7:47 am, the morning after

Dean wakes first.

For a while, he lies there, listening to Cas’s breathing. They’re tangled together under the blankets. Cas’s face is tucked against Dean’s neck.

Eventually, Dean gently pulls himself away and gets out of bed. He dresses quietly in boxers, a t-shirt, and his robe before padding out of the room on bare feet, the door snicking shut behind him.

In the kitchen, he finds the coffee machine already prepared by someone (probably Eileen, none of the men in the bunker ever remember) the night before. He turns it on and hits the button, then stretches while it starts to brew. He’s a little sore, aching in unfamiliar ways.

He shivers slightly, remembering what Cas did the night before to put that ache there.

He hears footsteps behind him. Knows who it is without turning around.

“Morning, sunshine. Coffee’s brewing.”

He turns to see Cas in the doorway, wearing boxers and a half-buttoned flannel shirt and nothing else, his hair even messier than it normally is first thing in the morning. He comes over to where Dean leans against the counter. Reaches up to cup Dean’s jaw in his hand.

“Are you okay?”

Dean shifts his head and presses a kiss to Cas’s palm.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Cas’s eyes search Dean’s face.

“I was worried when you were gone this morning. I thought maybe last night was too much.”

“Hey.” Dean looks Cas straight in the eye. “Last night was perfect.”

Dean feels Cas relax. He leans in and kisses Dean, soft and sweet, pulling away when Dean tries to deepen the kiss.

“Coffee’s ready.”

Dean smirks.

“Now I see where your heart belongs,” he says, turning to fill their mugs. He passes Cas his mug, a green one with a small chip in the handle.

They take their coffee to the table and sit in comfortable silence, bare feet tangled together under the table. They’re halfway through their mugs when Eileen walks into the kitchen, already fully dressed. She stops when she sees them.

“Plenty of coffee if you want some,” Dean says, waving towards the pot.

Eileen pours herself a mug and joins them at the table, looking between them.

“Something’s different,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “Oh.”

Cas looks across at her, his hands moving gracefully as he signs.

“We should compare notes. There may be certain similarities, after all. They’re brothers.”

Dean chokes on his coffee. Eileen can’t leave the room fast enough. Cas just smiles serenely.

Chapter Text

Scene: the bunker’s gym, 3:15 pm, sparring that turns into something very different

Dean hits the punching bag again.

He’s been lazy recently. He hasn’t been working out, and he hasn’t had hunting to keep him fit. So he’s down here in the gym, putting in some time with the weights and now the punching bag. He’s been at it long enough that his t-shirt is damp with sweat.

He senses Cas in the doorway, watching.

“Enjoying the view?”

Cas comes into the room.

“Of course. You’re lovely, Dean.”

Dean flushes and hits the punching bag harder.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, a little out of breath. He turns to Cas. “How about sparring instead of watching me?”

Cas does that head tilt.

“Sparring?”

“You’re gonna have to train if you want to keep looking like that,” Dean says, removing his gloves. “Or if you want to hunt.”

Cas pulls off his hoodie, revealing a white t-shirt that’s practically moulded to his biceps, the v-neckline low enough to show his collarbones. Dean absolutely does not stare for a full ten seconds.

“Alright then,” Cas says. “I suppose it’s time to see what this human body can do.”

They move to the floor mats and face each other. Cas’s hands are at his sides. He looks relaxed. Dean tenses.

He steps in, aiming a fist at Cas’s kidney, intending to pull the punch at the last second. He doesn’t get there. Cas sidesteps, and his foot flicks out neatly, hooking around Dean’s ankle and tripping him. Dean just manages to catch himself before he ends up on the mat.

“That was a test,” Dean says as he steps back again.

Cas just raises an eyebrow.

Next time, Dean goes in hard, aiming to grab Cas. Who ducks under Dean’s arm, twists, and uses Dean’s momentum to send him sprawling to the mat.

“You’re telegraphing your moves,” Cas says, looking down at Dean.

“No I’m not,” Dean grumbles as he gets to his feet. “You’ve still got angel reflexes.”

“I’m fully human,” Cas says calmly. “But, despite appearances, I’m ancient, and I’ve been a soldier for most of my long existence. That gives me an advantage.”

“It’s giving you something,” Dean mutters darkly, and charges in again.

He doesn’t even know what Cas does, but suddenly he’s on the mat again, on his back, with Cas pinning him down. Dean’s breathing hard. Cas isn’t, but the way he’s looking at Dean as he brushes a stray lock of hair from Dean’s forehead . . .

“Sam and Eileen won’t be back for a few hours,” Dean says, voice coming out rough.

Cas doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans down, takes Dean’s earlobe in his mouth, and bites down gently. Dean arches into him.

“Do that again.”

Cas, for once, does what he’s told. Dean closes his eyes as Cas’s lips travel over his jaw and down his throat.

And then the weight pinning him to the mat is gone. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas standing over him, hand out.

“You’re a damn tease,” Dean says as he takes Cas’s hand and lets the angel pull him to his feet.

“You said we needed exercise.”

Dean feints left, then quickly pivots and aims a sharp blow to Cas’s ribs. Cas dodges, grabbing Dean’s hand and twisting, forcing Dean to sink to his knees to relieve the pressure on his elbow and shoulder. For a moment, they stay there like that, before Cas releases Dean’s arm.

Dean doesn’t get up. He reaches out, his hands shaking slightly, to touch the waistband of Cas’s sweatpants. Slides one finger under the elastic. Cas sucks in a breath and puts one hand over Dean’s.

“You don’t need to do that.”

Dean looks up at Cas. He can’t help but be reminded of the times they’ve been in this position – Dean on his knees, bloodied and broken, Cas looking down at him with cold indifference. And how this time is so different. Cas is looking at him with heat in those blue eyes, his skin flushed, hair tumbled across his forehead.

“I know. I want to,” Dean says. “Fair warning though. I might not be very good at it. But I’m a fast learner.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Cas reaches down to cup Dean’s face in his hand. “You’ve always looked good on your knees.”

This time, when Dean reaches for Cas’s waistband, Cas doesn’t stop him.

Chapter Text

Scene: War Room, 6:34 am, a moment between two brothers

“What are you doing up?”

Dean looks up. Sam’s obviously just come in from a run, given the gym gear and sweat.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean says, his finger tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “I still have nightmares, sometimes. Of . . . of Cas being taken by the Empty, or walkin’ into that lake, or Lucifer killing him.”

Sam joins Dean at the table.

“You talked to Cas about this?”

Dean scrubs his hand over his face.

“Yeah, he knows. He . . . he has nightmares too.”

“I guess we all do,” Sam says softly. “We’ve been through more than most people.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while. Dean sips his coffee.

“Y’know,” he says slowly. “Sometimes I think I’d like to go back to just you and me, on the road, saving people.”

“And hunting things,” Sam finishes with a smile. “Yeah. Sometimes I miss it, too.”

“But then . . . I dunno. Maybe it’s time to let someone else do it for a change.”

“Dean, you’ve done more than most people will ever understand.” Sam’s giving him that earnest look. “If you want to slow down, no one’s going to question it. Especially me.”

Dean looks down at his mug.

“You ever think about it? Retiring?”

“Sure. But I reckon me and Eileen will keep going a bit longer.” He nudges Dean and grins. “I’m four years younger than you, remember.”

“Yeah, yeah. I could still kick your ass.”

Sam gets to his feet.

“I’m heading for the showers. You and Cas got plans for today?”

“Not exactly.”

“Eileen dug out some old board games, and it’s supposed to rain later. We thought we’d make an afternoon of it, if you want to join in.”

Dean shrugs.

“Why not? Could be fun.”

Scene: bunker library, 2:15 pm, where Cas proves surprisingly ruthless at Monopoly

“I thought you loved me,” Dean says, his tone one of wounded betrayal.

“That doesn’t mean I have to let you win at Monopoly,” Cas says calmly, gathering up the play money from Dean’s corner of the table.

They’ve been playing for an hour, and Cas has just bankrupted Dean.

“Sure it does.” He turns to Eileen, making a clumsy attempt at signing. He’s improving, but he still sucks at it. She seems to appreciate the effort, even if she sometimes raises an eyebrow when he’s probably signed something embarrassingly wrong. Fortunately, she’s an excellent lip reader. “Eileen, back me up on this one.”

Eileen holds up her hands.

“I’m not getting involved.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbles, turning back to Cas. “But you’re sleeping on the couch tonight if you keep this up.”

“That would be punishing yourself,” Cas says.

Sam laughs.

“He’s got a point, Dean.”

“If you’re all gonna gang up on me, I’m getting snacks.” He stands. Leans over and kisses Cas on the cheek so he can whisper in his ear. “Don’t let Sam win.”

Cas smiles.

Dean goes to the kitchen. Makes coffee for Cas and Sam, tea for Eileen, gets a bottle of non-alcoholic ginger beer for himself. Puts together some of the cheeses Cas likes (yeah, okay, Dean admits they’re pretty good), slices carrots and cucumber, grabs dip out of the fridge. Adds a bowl of popcorn to the tray and carries everything through to the library.

Sam raises an eyebrow when Dean puts the tray on the table and starts handing out drinks.

“Okay, Cas. What have you done to my brother? Those are vegetables.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“I merely pointed out that my arteries are at risk now that I’m human,” Cas says.

Eileen reaches over and cuts a large piece of cheese.

“Well, I’m happy,” she says. “I love brie.”

The game, and the good-natured bickering, continue. Eileen is eliminated next, again by Cas, who doesn’t look at all apologetic. And then it’s just Sam and Cas, both of them ruthlessly focussed on winning.

An hour later, Sam’s down to a single un-mortgaged property and needs to roll at least a six to escape Cas’s bank of hotels. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

Sam rolls a four. Dean actually cheers.

Scene: the local bar, 9:45 pm, slow dancing and one very flustered hunter

Later that night, all four of them are at the local bar. It’s lively, even though it’s a weeknight. They’ve snagged a booth, Sam and Eileen on one side, Dean and Cas on the other.

Cas is wearing the jacket and jeans that make Dean want to do things to him that would be inappropriate (and probably illegal) in public. His hair looks like he combed it with his fingers and then made a deal with the wind. The overall effect is devastating, and he’s already attracted a lot of attention. Dean wants to growl at everyone who looks at Cas like that. Instead, he contents himself with giving death glares to anyone whose eyes linger on Cas too long.

People are up and dancing. Sam offers his hand to Eileen, who laughs and lets him pull her to her feet. Cas looks at Dean pointedly.

“Hell no,” Dean says. “No way you’re gettin’ me up there.”

Cas just keeps looking at him steadily. Dean feels his resolve crumble.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles, getting to his feet. “But I’m warning you right now, I can’t dance.”

They join Sam and Eileen. The music’s too loud for talking. Even though she can’t hear the music, Eileen’s joy is infectious, and soon they’re all making an attempt at dancing. Even Dean.

Then the song changes.

‘Open Arms’ by Journey. A slow ballad with a waltz tempo. Couples start pairing off. Dean freezes. Can’t meet Cas’s eyes. Looks at Sam instead, who has Eileen in his arms. Sam gives Dean an exasperated look and mouths “go on” over Eileen’s head.

Dean finally looks at Cas, whose expression is a little sad. And that’s what does it. Dean stops thinking. Stops caring about who sees them.

He reaches out and pulls Cas close, and everything else stops mattering.

They move to the song’s beat, the three-four time an easy dancing rhythm. Cas’s hands are on Dean’s back. Dean’s got his arms locked around Cas’s neck. They’re close enough that their breaths mingle.

“Do you trust me?” Cas says softly.

“Yeah.”

“Hold on.”

Dean doesn’t realise what Cas is doing until his hands tighten on Dean’s waist and he starts tipping Dean back.

“Are you serious?”

“Shh,” Cas says with a smile. “It’s romantic.”

Dean’s about to protest further but can’t get the words out. Maybe it’s the way Cas looks in that damn jacket, or the way his eyes have gone all soft. They’ve got a way bigger audience than Dean feels totally comfortable with, but he’s getting swept up in the moment. So he bends his knee and tightens his grip on Cas’s neck, moving on instinct to anchor himself, and lets Cas tilt him into a low dip.

And then Cas kisses him.

The world fades out. He vaguely hears a few whistles and claps, but his entire focus is on the feel of Cas’s lips against his. On Cas’s hand on his back, holding him firmly in place. He knows, with absolute certainty, that Cas won’t let him fall.

It’s over too soon. Cas pulls Dean up, until he can straighten his knee and stand. His hand slips from Cas’s neck to cup his cheek. For a moment they just stand there, lost in each other, foreheads pressed together.

Gradually, Dean becomes aware of the room. The song has changed to something more upbeat. People are dancing around them. No one seems to be paying them any attention.

Dean grabs Cas’s hand and pulls him back to their table to find Eileen and Sam. They slide into the booth opposite the other couple. Dean notices the way Cas goes first so he’s closest to the wall. He knows Dean doesn’t like to be penned in.

“You just made every woman in this bar jealous,” Eileen says to Dean with a grin. “I took a video.”

“Yeah, thanks for showing us all up, man,” Sam says to Cas, although there’s no heat in his words.

Dean opens his mouth to say something snarky but his brain is still stuck on that kiss. Sam laughs.

“You found his off switch, Cas.”

Dean flushes and flips his brother off, making Sam laugh harder.

“I found his off switch some time ago,” Cas says, a small, slightly smug smile on his lips.

Sam and Eileen stand.

“We’re gonna go get another round. Maybe some snacks,” Sam says.

They don’t wait for an answer, heading off to the bar.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Dean mutters to Cas, finally making his voice work. “You’ve been watching too many romances.”

“You could’ve stopped me,” Cas says. “And they’re romance novels. I find them . . . educational about human romantic relationships.”

Dean groans.

“They’re not . . . that stuff’s not real, Cas!”

Cas gives him that intense look that makes Dean melt.

“It’s been working on you.”

Dean feels his face and ears heat again. Only Cas has ever been able to make him blush.

He’s never been romanced like this. He’s had a series of one night stands, a couple of longer term relationships that ended badly. Nothing like this. He can’t remember the last time someone made him feel special. Like he’s worth something.

“What you do to me should be illegal,” Dean says, leaning into Cas, his voice low.

Cas reaches for Dean’s hand under the table.

“I’m treating you the way you deserve,” he says simply.

Dean looks away.

“I’m not great at all this.”

“Dean. You cook for me. You make me coffee exactly the way I like it before I even know I want it. You ran a bath for me last week when I complained of a backache. You care for me in all these little ways and I don’t think you even realise how much it matters.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, his ears still burning. “Next time you’re gonna do the whole Disney prince thing, warn me first.”

Cas smiles.

“I can do that.”

Chapter Text

Scene: a Colorado highway, 4:22 pm, on the way home from a hunt

“There’s a nice-looking bed and breakfast in the next town,” Cas says, tapping on his phone screen. “It looks romantic.”

Dean looks across at him from the driver’s seat. Cas is wearing those reading glasses that do things to Dean. He shifts a little in the seat.

“I dunno, Cas. We could stay on the road and be home by midnight.”

Cas sighs.

“It doesn’t make any difference whether we’re home at midnight tonight or tomorrow afternoon.” He gives Dean one of those intense looks, which is somehow enhanced by the glasses. Dean doesn’t think it’s fair. “That ghost threw you into a wall. You were limping when we left.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

“Of course I did.” He pauses. “It’s okay to admit you need rest, Dean.”

The case had been a relatively simple salt-and-burn. A good one for them to find their feet after nearly three months out of the saddle. But the ghost had been a little more aggressive than expected. Dean had distracted it while Cas had burned the wedding dress the ghost had been anchored to. He’s now bruised and sore and, if he’s honest, the prospect of a five hour drive isn’t appealing.

“This place have a bath?”

Cas smiles slightly and looks back down at his phone.

“Spa baths big enough for two people. Do you want me to call ahead?”

Scene: Whispering Aspens B&B, 5:13 pm, checking in and testing the giant bed

The bed and breakfast is a sprawling two storey wood building that looks like something out of a fairytale. Inside, the reception area is cosy, with a wood fireplace and plush sofas. The woman behind the desk looks up and smiles as they walk in.

“Good afternoon,” she says brightly. “Did I speak to one of you on the phone about half an hour ago?”

“That was me,” Cas says.

“I’ve put you in room fifteen,” the woman says, reaching behind her to grab a key off a hook. “It’s on the second floor. Turn right when you get to the top of the stairs and it’s at the end of the hallway. Breakfast is from eight in the room behind the reception desk.”

“Thank you,” Cas says, swapping the room key for his credit card.

“What anniversary is this?” she asks as she runs the card.

“Uh, it’s not,” Dean says before Cas can open his mouth. “We’re just, y’know. Passing through. He likes to spring these sorts of things on me.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay,” the woman says, smiling at them as she hands Cas’s card back. “Let me know if you need anything.”

They go back outside, park the Impala properly, and grab their bags before finding their room. Which turns out to be practically a suite. There’s a separate living area, complete with soft couches and a coffee table, and a large bathroom with the promised spa bath and free-standing shower. Then there’s the bed. A four-poster monster with fluffy pillows. Everything is tastefully decorated in creams and blues.

Dean puts his duffel on one of the couches, kicks his boots off and curls his toes into the plush carpet.

“Okay, this is nice,” he says.

Cas comes up behind him. Nuzzles into Dean’s neck. Dean lets his head fall back against Cas’s shoulder.

“Are you hungry?” Cas asks against Dean’s neck.

“Yeah, but not for food.”

Cas chuckles and pulls Dean to the bed.

Scene: Whispering Aspens B&B, 8:36 pm, a protective angel and a hunter finally admitting that sometimes he needs a break

A few hours later, they return to the hotel. In town, they’d stopped at the diner for dinner, where Dean had stared at Cas when he’d put his glasses on to read the menu long enough that he’d had to scramble when the waitress returned to take their order. Cas had pretended not to notice, but he’d kept the glasses on longer than necessary. After the diner, they called in at the grocery store to grab snacks.

Dean dumps the grocery bag on the coffee table while Cas goes to start filling the giant bath. By the time Dean has stripped off his clothes and pulled on one of the robes, the bathroom is full of steam. Cas has lit candles, and the bathroom is filled with flickering light.

Cas stands from where he’s testing the water as Dean enters the bathroom.

“Show me,” Cas says, voice low and commanding in a way Dean’s helpless to resist.

Dean sighs and opens the robe. A large bruise blooms across his ribs where the ghost tossed him into the wall. Cas reaches out and touches it gently.

“I’ve had worse,” Dean says.

“I still don’t like seeing you hurt,” Cas says. “Especially now that I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing something about it. You made me take a break and look after myself for once.”

“But I can’t heal you, Dean. I can’t take your pain away.” Cas looks away. “I’m a man in his mid-forties. My back hurts. I need reading glasses. I’m . . . not what I used to be.”

“Do you regret it? Giving up your grace?”

Cas is quiet for so long Dean thinks he’s not going to answer.

“No,” he says eventually. “I don’t. It was the only way I could come back to you. I could never regret that. But I . . . I’d do anything to keep you safe. So seeing you hurt, knowing I could do something about it if I had my grace . . . it’s hard.”

“Hey.” Dean cups Cas’s face in his hand. Cas finally looks at him, blue eyes bright with tears. “Don’t you think I feel the same way? All through that fight with the ghost, I kept thinking you’re human now. You’re not an immortal, bulletproof angel anymore. And it scares the hell outta me that you could . . . So I figure if I’ve gotta get thrown into a wall so you don’t have to, then that’s what’s gonna happen.”

Cas smiles sadly. A single tear escapes his lower eyelid and slides down his cheek. Dean catches it on his thumb.

“That’s not the answer.”

“This job’s dangerous, Cas. You know that. I’m not gonna stop ‘cause my partner’s overprotective.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Your willingness to throw yourself into danger to protect innocent people is one of the many reasons I love you,” Cas says softly. “I guess we both have to get used to it.”

They don’t say anything else for a moment.

“I think there’s enough water in the bath now,” Dean says.

Cas glances over at the spa.

“You go ahead. I’ll join you in a minute.”

He leaves the bathroom. Dean shrugs off his robe, tests the water, and steps into the bath. He sighs as he lies back, the warm water already soothing his tired muscles.

When Cas returns, he shuts off the water before climbing into the bath.

Cas’s eyes slip closed as he settles into the bath. Dean takes the chance to really look at him. The fine lines around his eyes. The curve of his jaw, shadowed with stubble. Dean still doesn’t know what he did to deserve the beautiful man sitting opposite.

“You’re staring,” Cas says without opening his eyes.

“Can’t help it when you look like that.”

They don’t say anything else for a while, the only sounds in the room the gentle splash of water when one of them shifts.

“Y’know,” Dean says after a while. “This isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Cas smiles. His dark hair has fallen across his forehead, damp from the steam, curling slightly around his ears. His new anti-possession tattoo gleams wetly near his collarbone. The ink is still pure black, unlike Dean’s, which has faded a little over the years.

“Are you admitting I’m sometimes right?”

Dean flicks water at him.

“Don’t let it go to your halo.”

Chapter Text

Scene: rest stop on the I-80 highway in Wyoming, 8:36 am, nightmares and more first times

Castiel catches the Impala’s keys when Dean throws them over the hood on his way to the passenger seat.

“Can you drive? I’m kinda beat.”

Castiel blinks. Looks down at the keys. Across at Dean.

Dean looks tired, his green eyes shadowed. Castiel had woken in the early hours of the morning to find Dean curled up in the bed next to him, his face wet with tears. Castiel had held his hunter through the nightmare and then had somehow managed to go back to sleep. He’d woken a few hours later to find Dean sitting at the table cleaning his gun.

“Dean . . .”

“Don’t make a big thing of it. I trust you, okay?”

Dean gets in the car. Castiel pauses a moment before following. It’s the first time he’s driven the Impala. He knows how precious the car is to Dean. The only other person allowed to drive it is Sam, and then only when absolutely necessary.

So this is big, even if Dean doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

Castiel gets into the driver’s side. Slides the key into the ignition. Pauses before turning it.

“You do remember all the times you told me I’m a terrible driver?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Just drive, Cas.”

So Castiel does. He pulls out of the parking lot carefully, checking both directions twice. Once he’s cruising down the highway, he relaxes a little.

Next to him, Dean stretches in the passenger seat, long legs sprawled out in the footwell.

“I’m gonna try to sleep for a few hours,” he says. “I didn’t . . . well, you know what happened last night.”

Castiel’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. He hates how powerless he feels about Dean’s nightmares. About the haunted look in Dean’s eyes sometimes. Castiel knows Dean’s strong, but he’s been through so much. More than anyone should have to carry.

“Which one was it?” Castiel asks quietly.

Dean stares out the window.

“Charlie,” he says, his voice low. “When me and Sam found her in that motel bathroom.”

Castiel reaches across the seat. Takes Dean’s hand. Dean finally looks across at him.

“I’ll be okay. Just gotta get a couple hours.” He reaches across to the backseat for his jacket. Folds it roughly and uses it as a pillow, settling in with his head against the window. “Wake me up if anything interesting happens.”

Scene: gas station and diner on the I-80 highway in Wyoming, 12:53 pm, a new definition of happiness

Dean stirs as Castiel pulls off the road and comes to a stop at a fuel pump.

“Why are we stopping?” Dean looks around blearily. He runs a hand over his face, scrubs at his eyes. “We need gas?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “And food. I’ve been driving for four hours.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “I’ve been out that long?”

“You needed the rest.”

Dean stretches, his t-shirt riding up to display a handspan of toned abdomen. Castiel’s eyes linger. Dean’s beautiful like this. A little rumpled, completely unselfconscious. Castiel wants to trace Dean’s freckles. To kiss each one on the bridge of his nose. Instead, he opens the car door, climbs out, and starts filling the fuel tank.

Dean gets out of the passenger side a few minutes later. He leans on the Impala, watching Castiel finish refuelling the car, the light breeze ruffling his dark blonde hair.

“I’m gonna go inside and pay,” Dean says. “Meet you in the diner?”

Castiel nods and hangs up the fuel pump, moves the Impala into a parking space out the front of the diner that’s attached to the gas station, then makes his way over to the bathrooms.

He enters the diner to find Dean’s grabbed a booth. Castiel walks over and slides in opposite the hunter. Gets his glasses out of his pocket and settles them on his nose. He doesn’t miss the way Dean shifts in his seat and steals glances at Castiel from over the top of his menu.

Dean orders a burger with extra bacon and fries when the waitress comes over. Castiel pointedly orders a salad. He’s been trying to gently nudge Dean towards healthier options, with mixed success. He doesn’t want to come across as controlling. But he worries. He wishes Dean would take better care of himself.

Still, Castiel doesn’t object to the sound Dean makes when he bites into the burger. Or the ketchup smeared at the corner of his mouth. If they were alone in a motel room, Castiel would lean across and lick it off, but he can’t maul the hunter in public. Fortunately, he’s had a lot of practice in keeping his hands to himself over the years.

It’s a good thing angels have good self-control. Because the way Dean eats is almost pornographic.

Castiel focusses on his salad. Resolutely avoids staring as Dean licks his fingers.

They’re sharing the rest of the fries when Dean breaks the silence.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “For last night.”

“What for?”

“You didn’t push,” Dean says. “You never do.”

“If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you need space,” Castiel says gently. “I’ll always be here, Dean. For whatever you need from me.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” Dean reaches out and squeezes Castiel’s hand briefly before letting go and getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go take a leak. I’ll drive the next leg. Give you a break.”

He heads off in the direction of the bathrooms. Castiel pays for their meal and then goes outside to wait. It’s not long before Dean emerges from the bathroom.

Castiel watches Dean as he walks across the parking lot. He’s always enjoyed watching Dean – the way he moves, muscles flexing under his shirt, jeans hugging his long legs – and now, he can do it openly, without needing an excuse.

He lets his eyes travel over Dean’s form. The black t-shirt that’s a little too tight, straining slightly across his broad chest. The dark red shirt over it, rolled to his elbows, toned forearms on display. Castiel had never really understood the attraction of forearms, until he saw Dean’s. Then again, Castiel had never found any human body attractive before he met Dean.

Right now, he wants to run his tongue along those forearms, to taste Dean’s skin, inhale his scent, motor oil and something smoky and spicy that’s just him. But that wouldn’t be appropriate in a gas station car park, so he settles for looking. There’ll be plenty of time later, at whatever motel they stop at, for Castiel to strip Dean’s clothes off, lay him out on the bed, and lose himself in soft skin and hard muscle.

“You checkin’ me out?” Dean asks with a grin as he approaches.

“I’m only human,” Castiel says, deadpan. “You know what you look like.”

Dean’s grin turns cocky.

“Sometimes I think you only like me for my body, sweetheart,” he says.

“I did rebuild it,” Castiel says. “I know it . . . intimately.”

Dean flushes, colour spreading prettily across his cheekbones. Castiel likes knowing the effect he can have on the usually confident hunter with a few well-chosen words and an intense look.

Dean jogs the last few steps up the incline.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he says quietly.

“Yes,” Castiel says, but his eyes aren’t on the mountains in the distance. “You are.”

Dean huffs out a laugh.

“You’ve really gotta stop reading those damn romances.”

Castiel smiles.

Dean turns to face the mountains. Castiel leans against the Impala. Dean leans against Castiel.

“I kinda thought moments like this weren’t meant for guys like us,” Dean says.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I always thought I was fightin’ for other people to get this,” Dean says. “Always thought it’d end bloody for me. And I was sorta okay with it. I’d accepted it. I mean, I’ve been shot, and stabbed, and ripped apart by hellhounds. I was tortured in hell. I’ve had more concussions than a linebacker.” Dean looks up at the clear blue sky above them. Reaches for Castiel’s hand. “This makes me think maybe it was worth it.”

“I understand, Dean,” Castiel says. “You’re allowed to be happy.”

Dean rests his head on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel wraps an arm around his hunter. Presses a kiss to his temple.

“Yeah, we are,” Dean says softly.

Castiel had thought he knew what happiness was those months ago in the bunker, when he’d stood before Dean and said the words he’d held back for so long. He’d been wrong.

This, right here. The open road. The man he loves by his side. Knowing that home is a two day drive away. That he’s where he belongs.

For the first time in his long existence, Castiel knows what happiness means.

Chapter Text

Six months later

“You don’t have to hold my hand, Dean.”

“I know. I want to.”

Dean looks at Cas as the tattoo artist bends over the angel’s forearm. She’s already finished working on Dean’s shoulder, the bandage poking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“How long have you been together?” the artist asks.

“A bit over eight months, but we were friends for more than a decade.” Dean huffs out a laugh. “Took me a real long time to get my head outta my ass and tell him how I felt.”

“You really love each other.” The tattoo artist looks between them with a smile. “I can always tell.”

“Yes,” Cas says, his eyes meeting Dean’s. “Even death couldn’t tear us apart.”

Dean groans.

“You’re always saying sappy crap like that.”

“And you like it,” Cas says. “Not that you’d ever admit it.”

It had been Dean’s idea to get tattoos as a mark of their commitment to each other. He’d thought about asking Cas to marry him. It couldn’t have been formal – Cas doesn’t technically exist, Dean’s officially dead, and doing it under false identities holds no appeal – but they could’ve done something. But this feels right for them. Maybe one day they’ll have some kind of small ceremony, exchange rings, all that. For now though, this is enough.

Cas had suggested they keep the designs secret from each other. They’d worked separately with the artist to draw the tattoos, and neither of them know what the other has drafted. The artist put up a screen so they can’t see the design while it’s being worked on.

Dean can’t wait for the bandages to come off. He wants to see Cas’s reaction to the ink that now spreads across his shoulder and upper left arm, stretching across his chest.

This isn’t like when he’d accompanied Cas to get his anti-possession tattoo. That had been practical. As an angel, Cas hadn’t been vulnerable to possession while inhabiting his vessel. Now, without his grace protecting his human body, he is. So the tattoo had been about keeping him safe.

This is about marking a love that has endured despite the pain and suffering they’ve been through. A bond that’s only gotten stronger over the months since Cas came back to Dean.

Cas’s tattoo doesn’t take as long as Dean’s. They’re soon leaving the tattoo parlour, emerging into a sunny late summer day. Cas takes Dean’s hand as they walk towards Baby.

Dean watches Cas as they walk. He’s changed so much in the months since he became human. There’s a lightness to him now (except sometimes in bed when he goes into righteous angel mode and makes Dean forget his own name). He’s always been calm and stoic, but now he’s relaxed. Happy. He’s still Cas though, despite the changes. He’s got that dry sense of humour, that stubborn streak, and he doesn’t take Dean’s crap.

They still hunt, but they’re slowing down. Taking fewer cases. Sometimes Dean heads off with Sam to take out a nest of vampires. Dean caught Cas looking at real estate websites last week. They didn’t discuss it.

Dean’s starting to think about the future. Their future.

He never thought this would be him. He hadn’t thought he’d live to see thirty, let alone his forties. And he’d always been too scared to even hope for what he has now with Cas.

“Dean?”

Cas’s voice breaks through his thoughts. They’ve reached the Impala without Dean noticing. From the way Cas is looking at him, Dean suspects it’s not the first time Cas has said his name.

“Sorry,” he says, fishing the keys out of his pocket. “Distracted.”

“I can tell.” Cas sounds worried. “Are you okay?”

Dean leans on the roof of the car.

“These tattoos. I was just thinkin’ they mean a lot.”

Cas’s eyes meet Dean’s over the car.

“Yes,” he says. “They do.”

“And you and me . . . we’re in this for the long haul.”

“We are.”

“Good.” Dean nods. “Then let’s go home.”

That afternoon, it’s time for the bandages to come off. Dean goes to the bathroom to remove his, while Castiel stays in the room that used to be Dean’s and is now theirs.

Castiel makes short work of the bandage, then rolls his sleeve down to cover his forearm. He looks around the room while he waits for Dean to return. It’s clearly a shared room now. Castiel’s second pair of glasses are on the nightstand, next to one of Dean’s wrenches (Castiel hasn’t asked why it’s there) and a book of poetry. His clothes are next to Dean’s in the closet, his angel blade on the wall with Dean’s shotgun. Two pairs of boots are lined up inside the door.

Castiel opens the door when Dean knocks. The hunter enters the room, closes the door behind him. For a moment, they just look at each other the way they have countless times before.

 “You ready?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods.

Dean peels off his t-shirt. Castiel stares.

The wings spread across Dean’s shoulder, the tip of one ending near his collarbone. They’re just an outline, done in black ink, with feathers drawn in dark lines across Dean’s skin. The wings meet at the top of his left arm, where Castiel’s handprint has long since faded.

Slowly, Castiel circles around Dean. The other wing spans across his upper back, nearly reaching his neck.

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel says, his voice low, eyes stinging. His fingers itch to reach out and trace the lines, but the skin is still red, and he doesn’t want to hurt Dean. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to touch once the tattoo has healed.

“It’s as close as we could get to the way I remember your wings,” Dean says quietly, green eyes bright with tears. “I’m yours, Cas. I might be kinda broken and washed up, but I’m yours.”

“You’re not broken, Dean.” Castiel rolls up the sleeve of his shirt to show the tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. “This is who you are. Orion. The hunter. Strong and brave, a warrior and protector.”

The tattoo stretches down Castiel’s forearm, almost the whole length from elbow to wrist. The main stars of the constellation are large, smaller ones filling in the spaces, delicate lines connecting the major stars to form the familiar shape of the hunter.

Dean looks at it for so long without speaking that Castiel thinks he’s made a terrible mistake. He should have chosen something more literal. Something that didn’t require an understanding of mythology and the constellations. He watches Dean’s throat work as he swallows.

And then Dean is grabbing Castiel by the front of his shirt, hauling him close, and kissing him.

It doesn’t matter how many times Dean kisses him. Castiel knows it will always be like it’s the first time again. The feel of Dean’s lips against his. The way Dean’s hand spikes into Castiel’s hair. The heat of his skin under Castiel’s hands.

“It’s perfect, Cas. You’re perfect,” Dean says when they break the kiss.

Castiel huffs out a laugh.

“I’m not. I’m literally a fallen angel.”

“Okay then. You’re perfect for me.”

A tear slips down Castiel’s face. Dean catches it on his finger.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you,” Castiel says.

“You already are,” Dean says. “You’re everything I never let myself want.”

They stand like that, holding each other, foreheads resting together, faces wet with tears.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Castiel smiles through his tears.

“I love you too, Dean.”

Outside, the world keeps turning, afternoon melting into twilight.

And inside the bunker, safe in each other’s arms, two men let the peace and love they fought so hard for settle.