Chapter Text
Come Home to My Heart
Dean traced the tip of his forefinger along the even plain of his skin where once the Mark remained etched to, red and blotchy, the source of all the anger and hatred that brewed in his chest. He liked to believe so, instead of the other louder, stinging thought that maybe the Mark had nothing to do with what he did— who he was .
Maybe the Mark was just an extension of his own twisted mind.
Then there was Castiel.
Dean remembered Cas's warm hand on his shoulder, trying to stop him from destroying everything in his path, and inadvertently himself. He remembered the hard swell of his knuckle connecting Cas's jaw, the only feeling that was clear in that moment compared to the blur of hot white rage that clouded his vision as he watched his own hands harm the angel. Now his mind was as clear as it could get and Dean saw a different kind of red. Cas’s bloody face, his blood on Dean’s knuckles pouring down the motel room sink.
Yet, Castiel had called him just hours ago, telling Dean he would meet them at the bunker. The phone still remained clutched in his palm and Sam had held on for…
"What'd Cas say?"
Four minutes.
"He's back at the bunker," Dean replied.
Sam blinked at him, "And?"
"And what?" Dean snapped, because he almost reaped his brother with Death's scythe and there was no coming back from that.
"Is he alright? What about Rowena?"
"Pretty sure it was him on the phone so he's not dead," Dean says, clipped. "I don't know about Rowena."
"I tried her phone," Sam sighed. "Nothing."
"We'll wait until she has the mind to send a postcard."
"Who pissed in your cereal?" Sam quipped, fixing Dean with a bitch face, an eight on the Richter scale.
"I'm just wiped, alright?" Dean ran a hand over his face, the other gripping the wheel tight. "You know how Cas is. He just asked us to get over there quick and hung up."
As frustrating as it was, sometimes Dean couldn't help but think that Cas's clipped and concise answers were a blessing. It was a minuscule pause—a moment where he could rest his eyes—before the inevitable kamikaze mission of tying up the loose ends came up.
"Great," Sam threw his hands up.
" Great, " Dean mocked in a high-pitched voice, grinning at the huff Sam threw his way.
"Shut up," Sam groused, clicking away on his phone.
"I killed Death," Dean grinned, “have some respect.”
"Throw that on a shirt," Sam muttered, and added, "give one to Cas, too."
The road back to the bunker was one long stretch of mud that dipped up and down and winded through thick trees. Dean pulled into the garage, the last pints of adrenaline wearing off as he climbed out of the car.
"Cas!" Sam beat him to it, already halfway down the stairs. Dean followed suit, smiling when Cas walked into the library.
"Dean," he said in reply, completely ignoring Sam’s existence as always. Dean never failed to revel in that little act of profound bond , because he was a fool in love with the unreachable.
The only thing he could think of right then was how much he wanted to hug Cas. God, he wanted to hug him so bad. Part of him expected Cas to show up bloody and beaten up, just like how he did in Dean's nightmares. Just how Dean had left him. The wounds were on Cas's face, but the pain was in Dean's heart, rattling and throbbing like a canary trapped in his chest every time he startled awake drenched in sweat after dozing off from another one of his rage-breakdowns.
Dean ran a hand through his hair, shaking himself out of his head. He needed a drink. Or four.
"Good, you're alright," Dean said, simple, easy. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Sam roll his eyes and Dean knew better than to open that can of worms now. Or ever.
"Yes," Cas nodded, and that one's gotta win the award for the most unconvincing affirmation. Dean was at his side in the blink of an eye, his legs moving on their own accord. He grabbed Cas by the shoulder, quickly scan for any visible injuries.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked softly just as Sam loudly inquired, "Where's Rowena?"
Cas's eyes met Dean's, only for a fraction of a second before he turned to look at Sam.
"Rowena escaped," Cas started. "I tried to stop her, she put me under a spell and I couldn't move. There was no way I could—"
"It's fine, Cas," Dean cut him off, glaring in Sam's direction, daring him to say anything else. They've all had a long day.
"Yeah, we'll find her later," Sam agreed, audibly rolling his eyes as if to say of course I’m not mad at him . "I'm guessing she took the Book of the Damned?"
Dean huffed, "Who would've seen that coming?"
"She knows better than to cause trouble right now," Sam shrugged. "We'll wait until she slips up."
"I'm sorry," Cas said, the meekness of his voice striking a chord within Dean.
"Hey, let it go," Dean reassured him, with a squeeze to his shoulder where his hand still rested. "There wasn't much you could've done. Her hocus pocus is too strong even for your mojo."
Cas nodded minutely, eyes still watching the floor with newfound interest. Dean really wanted to hug him.
Sam cleared his throat, "I'll catch up on my sleep then." That's all they got before his brother disappeared down the hallway.
The silence that followed was not awkward or uncomfortable, just a silence, easy and comforting the way it always was with the angel. Still, Cas took one for the team and broke it.
"Is the mark gone?"
Dean didn't say anything in reply, just extended his hand for Cas to check. When Cas gripped his wrist, it was not like the time when Dean first got the mark, rough and angry. He never asked how Cas knew back then, a part of him too afraid of the answer that would have followed. Now, Cas had his fingers gently curled around Dean's wrist, his other hand slowly peeling away the sleeve of his jacket. Dean couldn't help but enjoy the shiver it sent down to his spine, like liquid lighting. It was pathetic, he knew, but everything good in life was unreachable for him, and even if it weren’t, Cas deserved better than whatever shattered pieces Dean had left to offer.
Dean raised a brow, "So, what's the verdict, doc?"
He watched as Cas reached out with his free hand, only to stop an inch away from Dean’s skin. His hand retracted faster than it came. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I feel like me," he shrugged, leaving Cas to figure out the implications behind his words ‘cause lord knows Dean himself couldn’t. "What was this spell anyway?"
"Highly complicated in terms of the spell as well as the ingredients," Cas said, and added, barely audible, "everything except my grace."
“The hell, Cas?” Dean ripped his arm away from Cas’s hold. “You just let her drain you? What were you thinking?”
“Your safety,” Cas answered without missing a beat. Those stupid big blue eyes are sincere as it can be, because Cas never simply said things, he meant it.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, "You'll be fine in the morning," he said, slapping Cas on the shoulder, moving to head down the hallway to his room. "Nothing a good night's sleep can't recharge."
He couldn’t help but embrace the tinge of relief that crept up his chest. Cas without grace meant there was no reason for him to disappear, not for a while at least. He was tired of dreading the days when he woke up and found Cas gone, when only they spent hours through the previous night sitting in the library, chatting about nothing and everything. It was a cycle—Cas came home, Cas found a new problem to fix, Cas left. Deep inside he knew there would come a day when the cycle turned into a race—one with a finish line.
The grip on his elbow pulled both his legs and mind to a stop.
"There is no recharging,” Cas said, words slow and measured. “Not this time."
Dean blinked, "What?"
"There is no grace left in me,” Cas replied, looking bizarrely calm, almost resigned.
The words fell like an anvil to his chest, slow and heavy, never hitting the proverbial ground. When the Mark burned away from his arm like flakes of fire, Dean's second thought was what's the catch gonna be this time —first thought naturally being thank fuck —and there they were.
The catch was Cas's grace.
“You’re human?” Dean asked, the words feeling muddled on his tongue.
Cas nodded, eyes on the floor. “Permanently.”
There was a question in the word, a sense of challenge, as though Cas is expecting him to burst into tears or put a hole in the nearest wall. Dean couldn’t care less to formulate a reaction as his mind was running a mile a minute, from relief to guilt and back to plain old disgust aimed at no one but himself. Cas was human and Dean was the reason. From the moment they met, Dean had always been the prime suspect in everything that went wrong with Cas’s life.
He tried to school his features before responding, not knowing how well it was working. “You shouldn’t have done that, Cas.”
Cas sighed, shaking his head, “When you were a demon, you said the same words to Sam. You asked him to leave you alone but that’s not what he did,” he said. “You can’t keep making our choices for us, Dean.”
“Clearly,” Dean snipped, setting his jaw. “Don’t try to tell me I don’t get a say in this. You gave up your grace for me , not some Joe with a broken rib that you tried to heal. Of course I get a fucking say in this!”
“You didn’t lose anything, Dean,” Cas stated, his tone clipped. “I lost what was mine willingly , and I would do it again for you.”
Dean couldn’t remember when they had gotten so close to each other—not when Cas’s lightning blue gaze was fixed to his, looking right through him to the back of his skull. The flicker of emotions that zoomed past those eyes were too much for Dean to grasp—too fast, too fucking heart-wrenching.
He turned away, running his hand through his hair, "Fucking hell."
"You can shout at me all you want, Dean,” Cas said quietly. “I’ll understand if you want me to leave.”
"Cas, for fucks sake! I don’t want you to leave. I never do. This is your home too, man." Dean choked out, dangerously close to spilling out the little secrets he had been nursing in his mind for years. "I don't know what you think about me but I'm not that much of an asshole."
"I don't see nothing but good in you," Cas sighs. "Perhaps it's not my image of you that you should be worrying about."
Dean scoffed, "I can't do this now," he said, feeling exhaustion running deep down to his bones. "We'll figure something out in the morning." Please be here when I wake up.
Cas didn't say anything in reply, but Dean knew the expression of resignation on his face. He had seen the same one looking back at him from the mirror one too many times.
He sighs, "'Night, Cas. Go get some sleep."
"Goodnight, Dean," Cas slipped past him down the hallway, leaving Dean cold in a way that no amount of whiskey can fix.
——————
The pile of books on the table were tall enough that Sam couldn't see past it, which was why he startled and bumped his knee under the table when the chair opposite to him scraped against the floor. It had nothing to do with the exhaustion he was feeling from spending way too much time the previous night looking up ways to find a very powerful witch with a deadly book.
"Mornin', Cas," he greeted, lifting his gaze off his book when no reply came. "Are you alright?"
"I don't think so," Cas said, obscure as ever.
"You wanna talk about it?" he asked, not sure how to go about this. Navigating around Cas had always been Dean's forte. Not that Sam didn't want to, but he was generous enough to let Dean have that one thing he was brave enough to do, since his brother—for all the bark and bite—turned into a puddle on the floor around Castiel.
"I believe since I told your brother, it's only fair that I tell you," Cas began. "The spell to remove the mark took some intricate ingredients...one of them was my grace."
Sam frowned, remembering some of the muffled shouting that he heard last night, all of it making sense right now. The expression on Cas's face made it clear that this wasn't a temporary low running tank.
Jesus Christ, these idiots.
"Shit, Cas...thank you," he said, offering a smile he hoped was reassuring and grateful. "For doing that for Dean. I know how important this is, so yeah, thanks."
Cas might as well be holding a placard reading not as important as Dean in flashing neon letters. He loved his brother and had come to care about Cas almost as much in the past few years, but nothing on God's green earth was good enough for Sam to not rip his hair out from the frustration of watching his brother and his friend dancing around each other, suffering in silence.
"You've got me and Dean to help you through this, alright?" he offered, feeling more than grateful for Cas in that moment. They owed a hell lot of their lives to the guy. "It's not that bad, being human."
"It's something to be cherished," Cas nodded, tapping his fingers on the table. "With the right company of course."
Sam nodded, smiling, “How are you holding up so far?”
“I'm fine,” Cas said, the lie glaringly obvious. “Dean on the other hand…he is upset. I’m not sure if it is directed at me, but I’m certain I will not get a straight answer from him.”
“Dean’s not mad at you, Cas. He’s probably upset because you gave up your grace for him,” Sam explained, knowing Dean would be busy punching holes in a wall as he was speaking. Better than taking it out on him or Cas. “It’s kind of a big deal, you know. He probably feels like he owes you something.”
“He doesn’t,” Cas protested, eyes growing wide. “It was my wholehearted decision. I don’t expect anything in return, Sam. He’s...he means a lot to me and I couldn’t watch him spiral into insanity and violence if I could help.”
There it was, the constant cycle of sacrificing each other's lives that seemed to be engraved into every strand of the Winchesters’ DNA, and Castiel’s by extension. Sam couldn’t blame him for he’d have done the same for Dean if he had to. All he had was second hand accounts of the drifts that happened between Dean and Cas—be it Purgatory, the angel tablet or whatever shit show that unfolded in the bunker while Cas tried to stop Dean from going on a murder spree. Unfortunately, all the accounts came straight from Dean’s mouth, so all the nitty-gritty details were absent. But Sam was the one who had to watch his brother whip his head around in a crowd catching the tail of a tan coat or stare right through the window at night and quietly blink his tears away or blink down his knuckles in a trance as if he still saw red there.
He ran a hand over his face, “I get you, Cas. But you know how Dean is. He thinks his own life is a guilty weight he should carry on his shoulders.”
“I wish I could help,” Cas murmured, his voice quiet like a helpless child.
“You are helping,” Sam tried to reassure, his heart aching at the way Cas’s frame shifts as though to make himself smaller. “You being here...he needs that. Just don’t take off on him.”
Cas’s face hardened, a flicker of sadness brushing past his features, “It’s not my choice to stay.”
Sam opened his mouth to ask what he meant but footsteps echoing through the hallway interrupted him.
“Mornin'," Dean chose to make his grand entrance at that moment. "Why didn’t I get an invite to the family meeting?”
“Good morning, Dean,” Cas’s shoulders slumped even lower, “We were just talking.”
“About what?” Dean asked. There was something about the way Dean was holding himself, taut and fidgety. Sam knew his brother well enough to know it was guilt. Cas looked almost as worse, and Sam realized he was living with two ticking time bombs, now the bet was on which one exploded first.
“Latin,” Sam intervened, giving Cas an out.
Dean rolled his eyes, "Slow down, Hermione. Go watch some porn like a normal person."
Sam glared at Dean long enough to convey the depth of his bitch face before turning to the next page of the book he was reading.
"I prefer learning a language to pornography," Cas commented.
"Of course you do, Jesus boy," Dean chuckled. “You want some coffee, Cas? And some pancakes to go with?”
“Yes, that would be nice,” Cas replied, snagging a book from the pile on the desk.
And Sam needed alcohol. A lot of it.
“How about you, Sammy?”
“I had some granola after my run, I’m good.” Sam replied, waiting for the rabbit joke.
"Roger that, Bambi." That was new. "But, I'm not letting Cas follow your sinful ways now that he's gonna be eating." he said, turning to look at Cas. "If I see you anywhere near a salad, I will strangle you."
"I would choose meat over salads," Cas shrugged.
"Burgers make you very happy, I know," Dean mumbled.
Sam bit his tongue like he did always. It was a question of survival at this point.
"They do," Cas replied, eyes fixed on Dean who had his back turned to them.
Sam grabbed his laptop, pulling it open because he felt like he was intruding on something he was not meant to witness. Maybe a solo hunt would be a good idea right then, that would give Dean and Cas the time to sort themselves out. Then again, the last time his attention was elsewhere, for all his insecurities about Cas leaving, Dean had somehow ended up kicking Cas out of the bunker and Sam was not willing to have a repeat of that. He had watched Dean mop around like a war widow way too many times by now.
"There you go," Dean slid the plate of pancakes and coffee in front of Cas, sitting down on the chair next to him, looking like a kid waiting for his drawing to be hung on the fridge. "Dig in."
Sam watched them over the screen of his laptop, not being able to draw his eyes away when his brother looked so relaxed and worked up at the same time. His shoulders were tense but his eyes seemed lighter. Sam knew it had an expiration date, when Dean had his inevitable breakdown over how he was not worth Cas’s sacrifice or whatever stupid shit that he usually came up with to push people away, but for now, his brother looked as close to happiness as a hunter carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders could look, and Sam could live with that.
Cas hummed happily around the first bite and Dean's face split into a grin, "That good?"
"A huge improvement from tasting molecules," Cas replied, only after he finished swallowing. That wasn't going to last much longer with the table manners he was going to pick up from Dean.
"Man, wait until you get to eat bacon," Dean drummed his fingers on the table. "You better like the chewy kind better or I'll disown you."
"You can't tell him what to like!" Sam protested. "Now you've conditioned him to be biased."
Dean waggled his brows, "Exactly," and turned to Cas. "No pressure, buddy."
"You're insufferable," Cas shook his head and went back to drowning his pancakes in diabetes inducing levels of syrup.
Sam went back to his book, though his brother and the former angel stuck out like a sore thumb in his line of vision as Dean and Cas threw glances at each other, needing no words to communicate, as they do. Sam knew if he were to leave them alone for long enough they would end up feeding pancakes to each other and Dean would pat Cas on the shoulder, say see ya later, pal and walk away like it was nothing, because his brother was the emotional equivalent of the Wall of China.
There wasn't anything Rowena-esque happening so Sam dropped the filtered search and started digging around for anything that remotely fit their category. Apparently, the freaks of nature were on a sabbatical because the papers were empty, so was the internet. The weirdest news of the day was a guy from Florida getting arrested for accidentally setting his neighbor's house on fire. Go figure.
"Found anything about Rowena?" Dean inquired, sounding only half interested.
"Nothing about Rowena, or anything for that matter," Sam shrugged. "Everything's squeaky clean."
"Not gonna look the gift horse on the mouth," Dean replied. "I was thinking we could sit back for a while."
"You wanna stop hunting?"
"Woah, slow down. I didn't say that," Dean said quickly. "Just...let's not go looking for cases that hard. If something catches our eyes we'll work it."
Cas looked up at that, "I thought you liked to hunt."
"I do," Dean flicked Cas's arm. "Doesn't mean we gotta hop on the first case we find. You and Sam are here and alive, the world is not ending for once and I can live with that for now."
"I don't want to be stuck here doing nothing," Cas spoke.
"Who said we're doing nothing? We're gonna train you on the intricacies and pleasures of human existence."
Sam snorted, "That sounds–"
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Samuel," Dean rolled his eyes. "I've had a rough couple of months, man. I wanna sit back for some time."
That's all it took for Cas's features to soften, "You deserve that, Dean. After what you have been through, you are entitled to a vacation."
"Slow your roll, cowboy. It's more like a weekend off," Dean ducked his head. "Don't think I'll be able to hold off longer than that."
"What about Rowena?" Sam interjected, feeling like he should contribute something to the conversation. The sour look Dean sent his way prompted him to add, "I mean, no rush. It's not like she's gonna get up to trouble when she knows we're tailing her."
"We're not tailing her."
"She might not be aware of that," Cas countered. "Unless she has some method of spying on us."
"Man, don't say that," Dean visibly shuddered. "Way too many people know way too much about us than I'd want them to."
"Nah, she can't get past the warding here," Sam waved his hand in dismissal.
"Then we sit back and relax."
Sam would rather chew off all his fingers before admitting he agreed with Dean, but they were all due for a couple days off considering everything they’ve been through in the last couple of months. Or years. Take a pick. Not that he was complaining, but whenever Dean woke up screaming from a nightmare, Sam too lost his sleep, hearing the choked out cries from his brother only a few doors away and being helpless. A weekend off does sounded fantastic.
Sam nodded, "Alright."
"Good," Dean sighed. "It feels real good to pump the brakes for a moment."
Sam bit down a smile at the genuine relief reflected in Dean's voice. His brother was right—everyone was alive and well for once and there was no apocalypse knocking on their door. Sam was more than willing to hold on to that as long as he could.
——————
It was a necessity for protection purposes but Castiel still despised how closed off the bunker was. There were no windows to the outside world; the walls matched the walls of his own mind, closing in on him with every passing minute. The only place he liked was the balcony in the garage, and that was where Castiel spent most of his time.
It had been two days and thirteen hours since Castiel turned human. He wondered why it felt longer than that.
Rain poured down heavily from the clouds, dotting the earth with softness and filling the air with that beautiful scent of mud and longing. He watched from where he was sitting on the floor, not anything in particular, just the surrounding world, or at least as far as his human sight let him. A sandpiper was trying to build a nest, which was a hard task during such a downpour, but it remained determined. The bird reminded him of Dean.
There was a knock on the door behind him, "Cas?"
"Yes, Dean?" he answered without turning around.
"The hell are you doing out here?"
"The earth is surreal during a rainfall."
"Alright, John Keats," Dean laughed softly, coming to sit down next to him on the floor, their shoulders pressed close. "You're gonna end up hating it if you catch pneumonia."
"I'm fine."
"Stealing my best line there," Dean nudged his shoulder gently.
This was another aspect of humanity that Castiel had started considering in earnest—touch. For a long time, Castiel considered his vessel as nothing more than a shell to navigate the world in. The vessel was his, but never a part of him. His brief exposure to humanity taught him how important touch was and how it conveyed what words couldn’t. The gentle caress of April’s hand on his cheek hefty varied from the press of her blade against his stomach, just like how Dean’s friendly nudge now differed from his fierce embrace back in Purgatory. Back when Castiel was an angel in all his glory, Dean’s touches were still special to him. While his skin simply touched Castiel’s vessel, Dean’s soul reached out to him like fire to the freezing. It was something Cas considered very astonishing about Dean at the time, how the man gave all of him through a mere touch. Though now Castiel recognized it as a simple fact—Dean was a man made to love, and he bled his heart dry doing it.
“How are you holding up, Cas?” Dean asked suddenly, his head turned to face Cas where he leaned back against the wall.
“I’m alright,” Cas replied. In that moment, he was. But considering the big picture, Castiel didn’t know where he stood.
"Cas, you gave up your cosmic juice for good. You don't have to act like you're all gung-ho about it."
"I don't regret what I did, Dean, no matter how much you try to make me regret my decision," Castiel glanced at Dean, making sure he understood the conviction in his voice. "It's different, I won't lie. It might take me a while to adjust but I have been human before. All I need is to get accustomed to the idea of remaining so for the rest of my life."
Dean remained quiet, gazing at the falling rain as they sat side by side, warmth coursing through their skins. It was comforting, just as every moment with Dean was. The hunter was always a flurry of emotions and colors, soul so bright and full of passion, Castiel admits there have been times when he got lost in its divinity. Now Dean was all skin and solid, pressed against Castiel's side. Yet, Castiel felt the same frazzled excitement as his eyes tracked the curve of Dean's cheekbones where it dipped into his stubbled jaw.
"You said…if– when the mark drove me crazy, you said you'd stay," Dean spoke up, eyes fixed far away. "Did you mean it?"
"Of course, Dean," Castiel swallowed audibly, leaning closer to his side. "As much as it would hurt me to watch you go down that path, you're my family. I would've stayed and tried to save you for as long as I could."
"There was no saving, Cas," Dean turned to look at him, his green eyes heavy. "All you could've done was find a way to end me for good."
Dean voiced it so easily but they both knew it was not an option. At least, not to Castiel. There were many things Castiel did in the name of the greater good, but harming even a hair on Dean Winchester's head was not one of them. He simply could never.
"Have I told you about the things Naomi made me do while she controlled my mind?" Castiel asked, already knowing the answer.
"Uh, she tortured you, right?"
"Torture was involved, yes," Castiel nodded. "Torture was followed by training."
Dean blinked slowly, "What'd she make you do?"
"She created versions of you…thousands of them," Castiel exhaled deeply, his breath rattling as it left his lungs. "And then she made me kill all those versions of you. One by one."
It was fascinating as it was heartbreaking to watch the series of emotions that flitted across Dean's features. His eyebrows raised marginally and the muscles in his jaw clenched, all while those green eyes remained locked to Castiel's.
"Jesus, Cas," Dean breathed out. "That's so goddamn messed up, man. Why didn't you tell me?"
I was terrified you would hate me. I was sure. You mean too much to me and I couldn’t lose you. I came too close to killing you. You still saved me.
“I didn’t know how,” Castiel said instead.
Dean sighed softly, “Well, her training kinda flopped, didn't it?”
“She was relentless in her trials. She didn’t stop until the thousand and eighteenth version of you,” Cas said, pushing past the lump in his throat. “The version I managed to kill.”
To his surprise, Dean laughed heartily, “Can’t believe you held out that long. With everything I’ve done to you it would’ve been fair if you had some fun.”
“Everything you did, you did for the right reasons, Dean,” Castiel replied. “My point here is that no matter who or what you turned out to be, I would never be able to hurt you.”
“You’re worse than Sam,” Dean rolled his eyes, as though he was personally offended by Castiel’s inability to hurt him. “But seriously, if you ever get your hands on a knock off version of me, try chopping his head off. I’ve tried it with a leviathan, it’s liberating.”
“It scares me how less you appreciate yourself,” Castiel pulled his knees to his chest.
“I’m not gonna sit here and pat myself on the back for nothin’.”
“Not to be crass but saving the world might be a little more than nothing.”
“You’re a smartass, you know that?” Dean said, a grin sliding into place.
Castiel couldn’t help but mirror the infectious smile, “Perhaps, it’s the influence of my company.”
The rain began settling down ever so slowly, sharpers rays of sunlight peeking out through the edges of the dark clouds. The sandpiper resumed building its nest as it dusted out its feathers to warm them in the growing light.
"Why did you tell me about the mind cross-wiring now?" Dean asked, his voice barely a whisper, as though he was hesitant to disturb the comforting blanket of silence between them.
"I'm not sure," Castiel replied. "Perhaps it's the relief of knowing that Naomi, or anyone for that matter, cannot control me anymore, not in that way. I feel untethered."
Dean hummed, "I felt the same after my dad, you know." he murmured. "I know that makes me sound like a piece of shit, but a part of me felt this weight lift off my shoulders."
"Your father forced you into the role of a soldier at an inappropriately young age, Dean. You deserve to be angry and upset about it."
"Angry, yeah. Maybe. Upset? Not so much," Dean shrugged. "I'd have taken care of Sammy no matter what."
"And who was there to take care of you?"
A small smile pulled at the edge of Dean's lips. "You can't ask shit like that when you know I got no answer."
Castiel shook his head, smiling. The sky cleared bit by bit and sunlight poured in, highlighting Dean's beautiful features with much more vigor. It was no mystery of the universe that Cas was in love with Dean; he had had enough time to realize that—between quiet days spent staring at the sky, waiting for an answer from God to cold nights at the community shelter with his coat folded underneath his head as a makeshift pillow—and now it was just a fact. Castiel was irrevocably in love with Dean; the man who remained righteous even when there was no archangel to give him the title, the man who cared as hard as he fought. It ached to love Dean, yet Cas wouldn’t trade it for the world.
A part of him always anticipated another heartbreak, when Dean’s fond eyes would turn cold and distant. When he realized all Castiel was to him was a liability and asked him to leave. Until then, Cas was shallow enough to hold on to whatever part of Dean he could. It was pathetic, but Cas could retire it to his humane weakness.
He jumped when a finger grazed against his cheek. Dean might have noticed as he snatched his finger back faster than it came.
"Gotta teach you how to shave," Dean muttered, tugging at the hem of his own shirt absently.
"I recall you liking my peach fuzz ."
Dean laughed brightly, his head tilting back, "I was so damn happy to see you alive, you could've grown a whole other head and I wouldn't have minded."
"I was happy to see you too."
"You sure didn't look like that."
Castiel rolled his eyes, "Every moment I was with you, a leviathan made you its target. I couldn't afford to be happy."
"Honestly I'm kinda over this sacrificing bullshit," Dean scoffed mirthlessly. "I'm used to living my life looking over my shoulder but I can't keep worrying about who's gonna fall dead next."
"You are not responsible for everyone's safety, Dean," Castiel said gently, watching the telltale signs of an angry outburst blooming in Dean's features. He held up his hand, "I know my words are not going to convince you, so I will try my best to keep myself safe."
Dean's eyes widened in surprise before his mouth tilted into a smile, "Going a little soft there, buddy?"
"I could still beat you up," Castiel smirked, earning a soft chuckle from the hunter.
"Bruised your ego, huh?"
Cas shook his head, "Dean, you're insufferable," he muttered, faux annoyance in his tone. The rain had settled fully and the sky shone bright against the shimmering ground. "I think we should go inside."
"Hmm," Dean nodded absently, making no move to get up.
So that was where they sat for what could be hours, enjoying the rare moment of steadiness and unhurried breaths, a fleeting moment Castiel wanted to savor before it inevitably fizzled away to another apocalypse to diffuse. Every glance at Dean through the corner of his eyes only solidified that it was all worth it.