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When Dean wakes up, Cas is curled protectively around him in their bed, and it takes him a minute, the way it does every morning, for his brain to catch up.
Cas had become human. Moved into the bunker. God, and it had been such a relief to find him– so much of that night is fuzzy when Dean tries to think back to it, just the feeling that had slammed into him, just the moment Cas’ eyes had met his after what had felt like such a long, tortuous stretch apart worrying about him. Just the frantic need to bring him home to the safety of the bunker, to know he was adjusting okay when so much would be new to him. His previous stints with being powered down had been short-term stuff, this was different, but…
He remembers every moment of making Cas his first meal as an official human resident of the bunker, even if it had been a frozen burrito. Speed was more important than culinary skill at the time, after all. Cas had been dancing on the edge of the kind of hunger that gnawed on your bones too long for Dean’s taste, been cold, felt pain and exhaustion and so many new kinds of worry, been so vulnerable . He remembers the way watching Cas eat had made him just stupid happy.
It was only a couple of days later that Cas found him building his little heat hideaway in one of the dungeons, and…
Yeah. And now his bed is their bed, his room is their room– first in the bunker, and now in their own sun-drenched little two-bedroom. He wakes up with Cas wrapped around him every morning. Though lately it’s been a lot more like Cas is trying to shield him from the world, when he spoons up behind him and places a hand over his belly. There’s no visible difference, yet, but he still feels a thrill at the way Cas’ hand rests there, spread wide and radiating warmth. It reminds him of the way it used to feel to be healed by his grace.
“Morning, Daddy.” He greets, grinning at the way Cas mumbles incoherently against his shoulder, not yet fully awake. It’s the same way he’s started every morning, since the pregnancy caught, even if he’s never sure how awake Cas is to hear it. “You thought of a name for this kiddo yet?”
“Jack.” Cas hums, trying it out.
“I like that.”
The light that comes through their window every morning is warm and hazy gold, like the sun’s only there to drench their room in honey, and every morning is sweet and slow. Dean has his job at the garage, and until he’s further along with the pregnancy, he’s happy to go in– it’s light work if he wants it to be, ever since he made manager. He and Sam have talked about going in together on rescuing a run-down bar in town, a little Roadhouse 2.0, making it another hub for the hunter network Sam’s running out of the bunker with Eileen nowadays. Dean would reduce his hours with the garage to run the place, and Cas has been enthusiastic about helping any way they need him to, when the time is right. Would take time off from…
He would take time off from his job. Dean will remember what Cas does after his first cup of coffee, he remembers everything better after his first cup of coffee.
He works with his hands, too, Cas does. He does something with his hands.
Carpenter. Of course that’s what Cas does, because he fixed up the house when they bought it, it was so affordable because it was a fixer-upper, and they’d done all the work themselves.
-
When Dean wakes up, Cas is curled protectively around him in their bed, and it takes him a minute, the way it does every morning, for his brain to catch up.
Cas had become human. Moved into the bunker. God, and it had been such a relief to find him– so much of that night is fuzzy when Dean tries to think back to it, just the feeling that had slammed into him, just the moment Cas’ eyes had fluttered open and Dean had known he was alive. Dean could never forget what it had been to get there just in time to see that reaper try and take Cas out, but he’d been fine. It had been a glancing blow with the angel blade, and Cas hadn’t been an angel.
He remembers every moment of making Cas his first meal as an official human resident of the bunker, even if it had been a frozen burrito. Cas shared Dean’s fondness for junk food, as a human, and watching him eat had made Dean just stupid happy. Maybe that was what had triggered his heat, even if he hadn’t realized at first that Cas as a human would be an alpha– having him back, seeing him sated and freshly showered. Making up a bed for him and feeling that telltale something that only nesting brings out in him.
It was only a couple of days later that Cas found him building his little heat hideaway in one of the dungeons, and…
Yeah. And once they actually talked about trying for kids, they moved out into their own sun-drenched little three-bedroom– enough room to have a second someday. He wakes up with Cas wrapped around him every morning. Though lately it’s been a lot more like Cas is trying to shield him from the world, when he spoons up behind him and places a hand over his belly. He doesn’t look pregnant for the most part, but when he’s naked he can tell there’s a little difference, and he feels a thrill at the way Cas’ hand rests there, spread wide and radiating warmth. It reminds him of the way it used to feel to be healed by his grace.
“Morning, Daddy.” He greets, grinning at the way Cas kisses his shoulder, not yet fully awake. It’s the same way he’s started every morning, since the pregnancy caught. “You thought of a name for this kiddo yet?”
“Jack.” Cas hums, trying it out.
“I like that.”
The light that comes through their window every morning is warm and hazy gold, like the sun’s only there to drench their room in honey, and every morning is sweet and slow. Dean has his job at the garage, and until he’s further along with the pregnancy, he’s happy to go in– it’s light work if he wants it to be, ever since he made manager. He and Sam have talked about going in together on rescuing a run-down bar in town, a little Roadhouse 2.0, making it another hub for the hunter network Sam’s running out of the bunker with Eileen nowadays. Dean would quit the garage to run the place, and Cas has been enthusiastic about helping any way they need him to, when the time is right. Would take time off from…
He would take time off from his job. Dean will remember what Cas does after his first cup of coffee, he remembers everything better after his first cup of coffee. Even if Cas insists on decaf now that there’s a baby.
Cas is just as much a caffeine junkie as Dean, anyway, now that he’s human. And if Dean doesn’t get full caf, nobody gets full caf.
He works with his hands, too, Cas does. He does something with his hands.
Beekeeper. Of course that’s what Cas does, because he’d always wanted to. He built his own… boxes. Hives. And the frames where the bees make wax and honey. He’d offered to try his hand at making mead, if they got the bar, which was just a ridiculously Cas offer to make.
-
When Dean wakes up, Cas is curled protectively around him in their bed, and it takes him a minute, the way it does every morning, for his brain to catch up.
Cas had become human. Moved into the bunker. God, and it had been such a relief to find him– so much of that night is fuzzy when Dean tries to think back to it, just the feeling that had slammed into him, seeing that reaper… seeing Cas… it had been a miracle he’d survived. Just the frantic need to bring him home to the safety of the bunker, to be there to take care of him as he recovered from the experience…
He remembers every moment of making Cas his first meal as an official human resident of the bunker, even if it had been a frozen burrito. Seeing Cas so vulnerable had shaken him so badly it was the most he could do, but Cas had been beyond appreciative. He remembers the way watching Cas wolf it down– just knowing he was okay enough to– had made him stupid happy.
It was only a couple of days later that Cas found him building his little heat hideaway in one of the dungeons, and he’d discovered human Cas was an alpha– his alpha. Cas had returned the burrito favor at some point during… all of that. Been so proud to provide for his mate, and, well, Dean had gone all gooey, too.
Yeah. And now his bed is their bed, his room is their room, in their own sun-drenched little four-bedroom– space enough to have Claire in the guest room, a nursery for the baby… and maybe someday, another. He wakes up with Cas wrapped around him every morning. Though lately it’s been a lot more like Cas is trying to shield him from the world, when he spoons up behind him and places a hand over his belly. Not much visible difference, yet, but he still feels a thrill at the way Cas’ hand rests there, spread wide and radiating warmth. Having this baby reminds him of the way it used to feel to be filled with Cas’ grace.
“Morning, Daddy.” He greets, grinning at the way Cas’ arm snakes around him, hand gripping his shoulder. It’s the same way he’s started every morning, since the pregnancy caught, and always with the same question. “You thought of a name for this kiddo yet?”
“Jack.” Cas says, the first time he hasn’t just hummed out an ‘I don’t know’.
“I like that.”
The light that comes through their window every morning is warm and hazy gold, like the sun’s only there to drench their room in honey, and every morning is sweet and slow. Dean is still managing the garage, but he and Sam have talked about going in together on rescuing a run-down bar in town, a little Roadhouse 2.0, making it another hub for the hunter network Sam’s running out of the bunker with Eileen nowadays. Dean might just leave the garage to run the place, or maybe he’d take time with the pup and Cas would. Would take time off from…
He would take time off from his job. Dean will remember what Cas does after his first cup of coffee, he remembers everything better after his first cup of coffee.
He works with his hands, too, Cas does. He does something with his hands.
He’s a doctor. A few thousand years of knowing how to heal people angelically is enough to qualify for the regular, non-miraculous kind of healing, Dean guesses. And it’s not like he wouldn’t have had to come up with fake credentials for any job. His hours at the family clinic would let him work the bar in the evenings some of the time. They’d take turns running the bar or staying home with the baby, eventually, and on Sam’s night to run the place, they’d spend their evening together.
-
When Dean wakes up, Cas is curled protectively around him in their bed, and it takes him a minute, the way it does every morning, for his brain to catch up.
Cas had become human. Moved into the bunker. God, and it had been such a relief to find him– Dean can remember every harrowing second of that race to his side, the fight with the reaper, thinking he’d lost him before he’d ever even had the chance to tell him…
He remembers every moment of making Cas his first meal as an official human resident of the bunker, too, even if it had been a frozen burrito. He remembers watching Cas wolf it down and feeling like some piece of his life was complete. And that smile when he’d said this was Cas’ home now had made him stupid happy.
It was only a couple of days later that Cas found him building his little heat hideaway in one of the dungeons, and he’d discovered human Cas was an alpha– his alpha. It had been three days of non-stop banging like a screen door in a hurricane. It had been bliss.
Yeah. And now his bed is their bed, his room is their room, in their own sprawling sun-drenched farmhouse– space enough to have the whole family visit at once, not to mention the nursery…. He wakes up with Cas wrapped around him every morning. Though lately it’s been a lot more like Cas is trying to shield him from the world, when he spoons up behind him and places a hand over his belly. They can’t exactly try for another now that Cas has his full mojo back, they’ve talked about that, but they got lucky. Made this perfect little one before it was too late. And the little nugget’s growing right on schedule.
“Morning, Daddy.” He greets, grinning at the way Cas’ arm snakes around him, hand gripping his shoulder tight, covering the mark that still stands out against his skin. It’s the same way he’s started every morning, since the pregnancy caught, and always with the same question. “You thought of a name for this kiddo yet?”
“Jack.” Cas says, decisive.
“I like that.” Dean hums.
The light that comes through their window every morning is warm and hazy gold, like the sun’s only there to drench their room in honey, and every morning is sweet and slow. Dean is… Dean is still managing the garage, but he’s been thinking about leaving– that’s right, leaving it for the baby first, but then he and Sam have talked about going in together on rescuing a run-down bar in town, a little Roadhouse 2.0, making it another hub for the hunter network Sam’s running out of the bunker with Eileen nowadays. And of course Cas would take time off from…
He would take time off from his job. Dean will remember what Cas does after his first cup of coffee, he remembers everything better after his first cup of coffee.
He works with his hands, too, Cas does. Even as an angel, he does something with his hands.
He’s a doctor. A little angelic mojo and nobody needs to know how his patients get healed, but they do. Not like they aren’t used to fake credentials, and it’s good money, but of course he’ll take time off for family when Dean’s ready to have this kid, and if Dean’s got the kid during the day when Cas is doing angelically-assisted surgeries, Cas can knock off early so they get some family time, before spending Dean’s work nights on solo baby duty. They’re going to make it work.
-
“Dean!” Cas bursts into the room, breathless, but Sam’s beaten him there. The djinn is down, but so is Dean, and he feels his heart lurch to a stop in the moment before he registers the slight rise and fall of Dean’s chest, the unmistakable aura of his soul, even dimmed and withdrawn in the wake of the djinn’s poison.
“He’s in there pretty deep.” Sam frowns, kneeling beside his prone brother.
“I’ll go in after him.”
“Are you sure?”
“It will be faster, if I do. I’ve been in Dean’s dreams before… I’ll be able to find him.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. That’s probably for the best, then.”
Cas stoops, lifting Dean easily, carrying him from where he’d collapsed over to a palette in the corner– not much, but marginally more comfortable than the dingy concrete floor of the warehouse, and made moreso by the trenchcoat folded under his head.
“I’ll find him.” He repeats, caressing Dean’s temple, projecting himself into the djinn dream.
It’s a little disorienting to find himself standing before an unfamiliar house. It’s a cheerful sunny yellow, with blue and white trim, with a big yard surrounded by picket fencing, a big porch with a porch swing… The door opens easily for him, he finds Dean in the sun-drenched living room, lying on the couch with his feet propped up on one arm, throw pillow tucked behind his head.
He’s not alarmed by Cas’ entry into his dream, he beams up at him like he’s only a little bit unexpected.
“You’re home early.”
“I… I’m not home.” He frowns, though he can see the appeal. He’s personally happy in the bunker, but it’s a beautiful house. He’d assumed it would be Dean’s, but are he and Sam supposed to live here as well? It’s large enough.
“Aw. Hospital needs you back?” Dean levers himself up from the couch with a grunt, one hand going to the small of his back, the other curving over his stomach. “What did you forget here?”
“Dean… no, that’s not–”
Dean tenses. “What is it?”
“I need you to remember the hunt. The djinn.”
“We haven’t hunted a djinn in a long time.” He takes a half step back. “We don’t do that anymore.”
“Tell me how the last hunt ended, then.”
“The last hunt was… we were dealing with the… You lost your grace. You got it back. And… it was a while ago. Vamps.”
“The djinn, Dean. You need to wake up.”
He shakes his head, eyes damp. “Cas, please don’t do this.”
“We need you to wake up.” He finally crosses the room between them, reaching out to Dean– Dean, whose hand is protecting and supporting a slight swell, where it rests at his belly.
Oh.
“How much of my life is a lie?” He swallows, trembles.
“Your real life is still worth coming back to. Please. Sam and I… we can’t lose you. Not here. Not now. Not now.”
“No– no, we… ‘cause if you’re telling me I’m still hunting, hunting djinn– I wouldn’t do that with a–” He hiccups around a sob, holding even more tightly to himself, to the child.
A child he’ll lose when he wakes, but if he doesn’t wake, then he’ll never have a chance at this future, and Cas– and Sam– will lose him. Something catches at his memory then, he steps forward and cups Dean’s face in one hand, the other curving around his shoulder.
“Poughkeepsie. Remember? I know you want this world to be real, but I need you.”
Dean nods once, jerkily, as he folds himself into Cas’ arms, and then suddenly Cas’ arms are empty, and he’s standing over Dean as he wakes.
“Dean!” Sam sags in relief, moving to help him stand, and Dean looks around at the folded trenchcoat which had briefly been his pillow, down at himself, and says nothing.
He doesn’t say anything on the drive back to the bunker, either, which Cas finds worrying, but Dean is experiencing a loss, even if it’s nothing he truly had. And Sam notices, when they get home and Dean simply goes and shuts himself in his room without a word, but… what he’s dealing with, it isn’t Cas’ place to say.
-
When Dean wakes up, Cas isn’t there, and it takes him a minute, the way maybe it will every morning, for his brain to catch up.
Cas had become human. God, and it had been such a relief to find him– Dean can remember every harrowing second of that race to his side, the fight with the reaper, losing him and never even telling him… and he still hadn’t been able to tell him, when Ezekiel– when Gadreel had brought him back, barely a kindness with the ultimatum he had in store, but Dean doesn’t know how he would have gone on if Cas hadn’t drawn another breath, hadn’t opened his eyes…
He remembers every moment of making Cas his first meal as an official human resident of the bunker, even if it had been a frozen burrito. He remembers the way watching Cas eat had made him just stupid happy. He remembers being told he had a choice to make that wasn’t a choice at all, and betraying the man he loved when that man needed him most.
Even without the suppressants he’s been on consistently since having a home base in Lebanon, he doubts he could have had a heat, after a thing like that.
Cas loving him wasn’t real, how stupid did he have to be to think it was? After the shit he pulled, after everything he’s done wrong… how had he been lulled into something so perfect? The house doesn’t exist. The baby…
God, it was never real, but he still feels like he lost it. In the dream, it was so… He’d been preparing for it. They’d been painting a mural in the nursery. And it’s not like a baby would have fit into his real life, he lives in an underground bunker full of the most dangerous shit imaginable, Cas has his grace back, so whatever chance there was between them is out the window, even if he hadn’t fucked it up beyond repair, there’s no garage job, none of them have normal people jobs, there’s certainly no business waiting to be bought and fixed up and run with Sammy and Cas so they can all play happy families.
The only light in Dean’s room every morning is cold and artificial, and he has to turn it on himself, something he doesn’t bother with this morning. He can see more than enough by the crack around the door. What’s worth seeing, when he doesn’t have anything? He’s not a husband, a father, a mechanic, a bar-owner. He’s a killer. It’s all he’ll ever be. It’s all his hands are good for.
Cas works with his hands, too. He’s a hunter. Dean took away anything better he might have had, even though he wasn’t there when it mattered. Put him back in this life.
-
“Dean hasn’t come out of his room all day.” Sam frowns, pacing in front of the coffeepot.
Cas can commiserate– he’s been sitting in the kitchen with the little television set, trying and failing to pay attention to the screen since they brought Dean home.
“He… has to process this.” He shrugs, helpless.
“This isn’t our first run-in with djinn dreams– this isn’t Dean’s first time. He’s never been like this before.”
“This dream was different. He had… I don’t know everything that he had. But he had a life in there. Over time… his dreams have evolved. What used to be simple to leave behind have changed. And this djinn… it pulled something deep out of him.”
“He has to come out eventually, though. I get that my brother won’t just talk about what he’s feeling, but he has to eat.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. I have been worrying for Dean, too. But… if he’s in his room, he has water, at least something he can eat squirreled away. We can give him one day. For now…we can pretend not to be so focused on him, and not make him feel like he’s under a spotlight when he emerges.”
“And if he doesn’t emerge?”
“Then in the morning, we’ll talk to him. Or… we bribe him into opening his door with pie.”
Sam stops his pacing at last, shoulders slumping a little with a weak laugh and a sigh. “You know Dean. I mean– obviously you know Dean. It’s just… I don’t know– thanks? If that’s not weird? If that makes sense.”
“You’re used to knowing Dean better than anyone– and to having very little competition.” Cas nods. “But you appreciate knowing that other people also care about him.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
“If you need something concrete to do… you could buy the pie tonight.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I think I’ll do that.” Sam seems to un-slump a bit, at the thought of having something useful to turn his nervous energy towards. “If Dean does come out… let him know that’s where I am?”
“Of course.”
Dean doesn’t come out, while Sam is on this most important errand. It’s not a surprise, that he doesn’t, but Cas had still hoped that somehow he might… might what? Sense that Sam had gone out and venture forth? It’s a stupid thing to hope for. It’s the best he can narrow the uneasy swirl of his emotions to.
He answers with a shake of his head when Sam comes home bearing a pink box– cherry, by the aroma. They exchange tight smiles that don’t reach their eyes, and keep each other company through Sam having dinner and after. They don’t touch the pie– that will wait for Dean.
Cas keeps the vigil all night, sitting up in his room, the door open just so he’ll hear if Dean ventures out of his room. He doesn’t.
In the morning, he plates a slice of pie and pours a glass of Sam’s oatmilk– a substance he doesn’t understand, but one that seems like an acceptable thing to have with pie– and heads to Dean’s door, where Sam is already knocking and softly calling to Dean.
“Dean?” He adds his voice. “I’m sure Sam mentioned the pie he bought… I’m going to leave some outside your door. I hope– Sam and I are going to go back to our rooms now. That’s where we’ll be for the next hour, if you want to talk to either of us. If you’re not ready for that… then I hope the pie helps, at least.”
Sam makes it clear with a look that he’s not on board with Cas’ plan, but he gives in and goes back to his room without making it into a fight.
In his own room, Cas doesn’t bother looking for something to occupy his time. He knows nothing will. He hears when Dean’s door opens just long enough for him to take the tray, and again when Dean makes a trip to the bathroom nearer to the end of his hour of guaranteed non-interruption. What he doesn’t expect is for Dean to knock at his door, instead of going back into hiding, but even if it’s not what he had expected, it’s what he had hoped for.
He’s not well, that much is immediately clear, and Cas struggles to contain his reaction, to not send Dean scurrying off to hide from him again.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Hey. Um… thanks. Pie helped.”
“I’m glad. Would you like to come in?”
Dean shivers, and lets Cas usher him in, sagging into the chair he’d provided. “Thanks. Um… hey, about– about Sam, you didn’t…?”
“Tell him what I saw in the djinn dream? I wouldn’t.” He shakes his head. “It isn’t my business to.”
Dean’s hand goes to his stomach, grips at his rumpled tee shirt. “Thanks.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
It’s as if the question punches a desperate sound out of Dean, he looks up at Cas wild-eyed and uncertain, almost afraid and overwhelmingly wanting. There’s something he needs that he won’t ask for, he won’t, but he doesn’t flinch from Cas’ approach, and his eyes slide shut at the hand to his brow.
“You’re cold.” He frowns. Most human ailments come with a rising temperature… but Dean, while clearly unwell, is cool to the touch, skin a little clammy. “Dean, look at me.”
Dean does– he submits to having his eyes looked into, his throat, to the gentle probing of Cas’ grace as it alleviates what it can, unable to heal the ailment at its root. He lets Cas pick him up and bundle him into his long-unused bed.
“I’m not going to tell Sam about the djinn dream, but I need to tell him you’re sick, so that we can find a way to fix it. All right?”
Dean burrows down into the bed with a heartbreakingly bereft sound.
“Are the blankets warm enough?” He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over Dean, and it might not be much, but it seems to help. Luckily, Sam’s not far, he’s right in his own room… Cas just wants to make sure Dean will be all right long enough for him to step away.
When he knocks, he can hear Sam all but trip over himself to get to the door.
“Cas?” He frowns.
“With me.”
“Dean–”
“He came to see me. He’s…” Cas pauses, holding Sam back in the hallway between their rooms. “I’m worried.”
“Worried?”
“Dean’s experience within the djinn dream is something only he can tell you much about… but his symptoms… I’m afraid he’s Pining, and it’s for someone who doesn’t exist.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can’t be, there are several ailments common to omegas that share symptoms, but… it fits.”
“Dean’s medical history… it’s not like we ever got taken to a real doctor, but… he’s got a complicated past, with alphas. Probably why he never picks an alpha to hook up with. I guess it’s hard to imagine that his dream world would have been… like that.”
“Well… see if he tells you something that points to a different diagnosis. We can take him to a doctor, if he agrees– or if he gets worse. Given the involvement of the djinn, though, I think he would rather find a solution on our own.”
“Even without that.” Sam bows his head in acknowledgment. Dean’s not a fan of hospitals– none of them want to hit the point where that’s their best choice.
Cas doesn’t need to ask what Sam means, by a ‘complicated past’-- he saw it all, when he first brought Dean’s battered but brilliant soul from the pit, when he reconstructed him whole and perfect. The paternal rejection, how he’d been so unprotected in the world so often, how he had learned to protect himself, how few people he could trust… how much he doubted his importance to those he did trust. How hard life as an omega hunter always has been.
“He’s cold.” Cas explains, when they reach his room and Dean is entirely buried in bedding and Cas’ coat.
The look in Sam’s eyes says it all– a drop in temperature, chills, those were some of the first symptoms of Pining Sickness, in mild or serious cases alike. Like some awful inverse of a heat. If it’s a mild case, Dean will spend a couple of days cold and lethargic, won’t eat much, might have some pains… but then he’ll be back on his feet. It’s possible that since he’s reacting to a world that wasn’t real, that’s all it will be.
It’s also possible that the inability to find closure because that world and his alpha in it aren’t real means the case will be severe, that his body will start to shut down and waste away…
Cas can’t think about that.
“Dean… hey.” Sam greets, his voice soft. There’s a growl from inside the cocoon of blankets when he tries to pull back the trenchcoat, but it lacks Dean’s usual verve. “Can you come out and talk to me? Cas says you’re not doing too hot. If we can figure out what to do here, then we don’t have to worry about doctors, right? C’mon, man.”
Dean slowly emerges, or at least the top of his head does, and then his eyes, one blearily open and the other screwed tightly shut.
“Hey.” Sam smiles at that, a little, his hand moving to Dean’s forehead. “Jesus, Dean, you feel like a body someone pulled out of the river. What happened?”
“Gotta work on your bedside manner.” He grumbles.
Cas pushes Sam out of the way, hand replacing his. “He was worse earlier.”
“This is an improvement? I knew– I knew we should have just broken the door down yesterday…”
Cas and Dean both glare balefully at him, at that.
“Fine.” Sam sighs. “Just… I’m going to see what I can pull up for home remedies, given… how little we have to work on. I’ll bring my laptop here. Just… keep an eye on him?”
“For all of two minutes?” Dean grumbles.
“Of course.” Cas promises.
-
Dean drifts in an out of an unsatisfying and dreamless sleep. When he’s awake, he can hear Sam huffing and grumbling and typing at his laptop, sitting at the desk in Cas’ room. Cas’ weight is there on the edge of the bed most of the time. Sometimes Cas will check his forehead with an impossibly warm hand, or adjust the blankets around him– once, during a more awake period, Cas had sat him up and made him drink some water. He feels a little less like crap, with the water, but he can’t seem to summon up the energy to do stuff for himself. It’s been so long since Cas needed to sleep that the bed doesn’t even smell like him, but the coat does. Every time it slips, Dean finds the strength to tug it back up high enough that he can get Cas’ scent off the collar. He smells like a just-opened jar of marshmallow fluff in a two hundred year old cathedral. Ancient and holy, brand new and achingly sweet. He smells warm and masculine and earthly, in a way he didn’t always, even though he’s an angel again. But then, he had this scent before he became human. Maybe for as long as his body’s been his own. It’s how he smelled in Purgatory, the scent that had filled Dean’s nostrils when they’d embraced, even with the wet muck and grime and the unending blood and ichor of that place, Cas’ scent had been pure comfort.
“I was prepared to wade through a lot of bullshit.” Sam groans, and Cas’ posture shifts slightly on the bed beside Dean. “It’s just… it’s like every source, it doesn’t matter what I ask for, if the problem is an omega health issue, the first answer is ‘have their alpha fix it’. That’s not a solution. I mean, maybe for some people, but for Dean–”
“It’s not possible.” Cas’ voice is cold, his body stiff, and a wave of shame washes over Dean, nausea rising in his gullet. Cas knows… Cas knows, and he finds the very idea repulsive. Of course he does.
He barely pulls himself up and to the edge of the bed before he’s sick in Cas’ wastebasket, and the only warmth is the burning of bile in his throat and blood rising to his face.
“Dean!” Cas’ arm is around him, he keens and tries to shrink away, and can’t, his body won’t let him when that arm is his sole comfort.
There’s more water, Cas urging him with soft, wordless sounds to rinse his mouth and to sip slowly, before he carefully lays him down on his side again, and for all that he’d flatly refused Dean only a moment ago, his hands are gentle now, confusingly so, as they settle Dean and tuck him in.
There’s no telltale scent of sick from the wastebasket, and Dean squints up at him.
“Don’t waste your mojo on that.”
“You’re in no state to stop me from using my grace to take care of you.”
“I for one think Cas should definitely use his mojo on that.” Sam chimes in, like anyone asked him.
“Sam… there have to be options, for people without alphas. Someone on the internet has to have some idea.” Cas presses, rightly ignoring Sam’s contribution as he fusses over the blankets.
“I’m looking.”
Cas rises, and Dean immediately aches for the warmth of having him close, a physical ache that seeps deep into his bones and settles in his joints. He leaves the room without a word.
“Dean?” Sam’s hand is on his forehead, cutting through the way the room had been spinning. He’s holding up the wastebasket. “Hey… if you need to spew, spew in this.”
He chuckles weakly, or he means to, and it comes out as another ragged, pained sob.
“Nah, got nothing left. Except a couple mouthfuls of water.”
“Okay. Well… I’m right here. If you need anything, I’m right here looking for answers.”
“I got it pretty bad, huh?”
“It’s kind of looking like Pining Sickness from the djinn dream triggering a CARS flareup. Not that that’s a professional diagnosis, but… I mean, we know you’ve got–”
“Yeah yeah.” He burrows down into Cas’ bed. The trenchcoat is no longer where he can bury his nose in it. Good old Complex Alpha Rejection Syndrome…
Dean had been dealing with John’s rejection long before he presented, though that did only make things worse. Rejection is basically an old friend at this point. He’ll take how he’s got it over the acute version, thought– it’s a real nasty shock to the system for some omegas. At least his body usually knows how to keep on trucking.
It wouldn't be the first time he’s Pined over Cas, he’s just always been able to keep it under control before. It never went full-blown because Cas was never his. It was just his problem to deal with, if he was gonna get stupid over his very much off-limits best friend.
Okay, ‘keep it under control’ is… relative. He’s surprised Sam hasn’t noticed the way he loses it whenever Cas is dead or… or just missing. He scrabbles for the trenchcoat where it’s slipped down the bed, the same coat he had carried with him when they lost Cas to the Leviathans, carried it until he could give it back because he couldn’t have stayed mad, not really. Hell, if Cas hadn’t resurrected so fast after, what, the second time he died on them, Dean doesn’t think he’d have kept the will to live losing him and Sam at the same time, and that was before…
Well, it was before a lot.
The door opens, the sound of it quiet, like Cas is taking pains not to disturb him, and he hadn’t thought Cas was coming back, not so soon, but the smell of chicken soup hits him and his stomach gives an obliging growl. Cas’ grin is a little watery and uncertain, but he lights up just the same at knowing Dean could eat.
“Slowly.” Cas cautions, and Dean’s not sure if he means the speed with which he scrambles to sit up, or the speed at which he wants him to eat. Both, maybe. He sets the tray on Dean’s lap. A big mug of broth and a little packet of oyster crackers that Dean suspects he pocketed at a Biggerson’s… a bowl of apple slices and a can of 7-Up.
“Cas… thanks.” He feels warmer. A little less achy and a little less sick.
“I should… probably not have fed you pie first. I let you become nauseated. I should have considered the time you spent without eating and began with something gentle, but… we wanted it to be something worth opening the door for, and I– I should have known better. I’ve had… experience, now, with food. Hunger.”
“Cas… ‘s okay. Not your fault.”
Cas smiles, gentler, hopeful, he watches as Dean sips at his broth and then his soda, as he carefully nibbles at a cracker. He doesn’t finish any of it, and Cas transfers the can over to his nightstand before taking the tray.
“I’ll go put this away for later. Just let me know, whenever… Or if you need something else.”
“I’m good. Not gonna barf or anything.”
“Do you need another blanket?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
Cas doesn’t look convinced, exactly, but he accepts Dean’s answer, heading for the kitchen with Dean’s leftovers, pathetic though that might be.
-
At some point, among the fussing and the researching, Dean shuffles off to the bathroom, and Cas is vibrating with anxiety the whole time, staring in the bathroom’s direction as if his gaze could bore through walls and he could know for certain that Dean wouldn’t slip or fall.
Sam notices.
“He’s a big boy, Cas.”
“Earlier, he–”
“If he needs help, he’ll let you know.”
“Maybe I should–”
“Cas. No.” He levels him with a firm look. “Do not. Look… if he can’t call for help… he’ll still be able to pray, right? He hasn’t been gone long enough to worry, not at the pace he’s moving. And you do not want the fit he’ll throw if you go and interrupt him mid-dump, okay?”
Cas frowns. Maybe he glares a little harder at the wall.
He’s a little surprised when, instead of hearing the door to Dean’s room, Dean returns to crawl into his rarely-used bed instead. It sets off a certain swelling of pride. His bed, his space, is good enough. If it wasn’t, Dean could have told Sam to continue his research in Dean’s room, or he could have simply retreated on his own, but…
It’s maybe a little ridiculous– he’s no longer human, really. He doesn’t need these feelings. That Dean has accepted care from him only means he’s family, not that Dean sees him as… as anything. As an alpha at all, let alone one he would take for himself. And yet, seeing Dean choose his bed, seeing him cover himself with his coat, fans a gentle flame inside him– a warmth.
He moves to stand over the bed, over Dean, despite the way Sam motions for him to give the man some space. If Dean needs space, he can say so himself, but Cas can’t help wanting to look after him.
Dean curls in on himself with a barely-audible sound of distress, and Cas’ hand is moving through his hair before he can question it, he can hear the low, wordless shushing sounds leaving his own throat, pushed past his teeth, and Dean’s answering keening, too soft for human hearing but real enough to be a dagger in an angel’s heart.
“I’m here.” He promises. “We’ll take care of you.”
“Don’t want…” Dean struggles, and Cas pulls back. “Just…”
“Just what?”
There’s no answer, and so he sits over a dreamless sleep and frets.
Time passes, but Cas’ awareness is limited to Dean, and the too-few ways in which he can ease his suffering, until at last Sam breaks the silence.
“Honestly… I’m surprised there was even an alpha in Dean’s djinn dream to set this all off. Settling down, yeah… it’s a weird thought sometimes, but it’s something I can see at least a part of his subconscious wanting. But alphas… that’s something he’s always avoided.” He leans back from his research, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Not without reason, I mean… there are a lot of vulnerabilities there. Some of them cut both ways. There’s a reason a lot of hunters won’t, you know? You see a lot of people who just look to hook up with betas, or alpha-alpha partnerships…”
“It was very clear that there was an alpha in his life. That’s all I can tell you.” Cas says, pausing to return to gently shushing Dean when he stirs and moans. “I didn’t see anyone else, or even a picture, but… the home he had, a house for a family… and the false memories of retiring. There was… there was something– someone– he was reluctant to leave, to accept wasn’t real, but…”
He shrugs, helpless.
“But anything else about it, Dean would have to tell me?”
“Basically. I didn’t see much. I don’t know what his dream alpha was like. But… if I thought she was real, I would find her. Wherever that search took.”
“But Dean’s never gotten serious about an alpha before, so how could she be, right.” Sam sighs.
“If it was something I could just heal…”
“If you could just… Yeah. No, I know you would.” Sam turns away from his laptop and rubs at his eyes. “It’s not something anyone can just ‘heal’, though, not… not that kind of thing.”
Dean’s hand closes around Cas’ wrist, catching his full attention.
“Cas?”
“Dean… can I get you something? More broth? Water? Blankets?”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t know?”
“Didn’t know what?”
“Alpha.”
“From the dream? No, I never saw her.”
Dean laughs weakly, pushes himself up and into Cas’ surprised arms. “It’s okay. It’s okay… it’s not– you’re doing a good job. You’re taking care of me.”
“I’m not doing enou–”
“Yes. You are.” He promises, his hold tightening around Cas as Sam quietly excuses himself to go and fix something to eat. “Cas… getting over this, it hit me hard. Took me a couple days. But… it, uh, it makes a difference, to know you’re not… rejecting me.”
“Rejecting you?” He frowns. “I don’t…”
“You gonna make me say it, man? It was you. I thought waking up from that dream lost me you. And… maybe it did, but– but you’ve been here doing your best to pull me out of a nosedive, that– it means something, right?”
“I… Dean.” He presses his cheek to the side of Dean’s head. “You will never lose me, for as long as you want me. I just… I wish I could give you everything, everything that you deserve, a home like that. But if I can be enough as I am, Dean, I’ve always been yours.”
–ONE YEAR LATER–
Dean lets Cas help him out of the Impala, though he doesn’t need help. He’s not nearly that far along, for one thing, and he’s been given the go-ahead to take off his blindfold.
The pendant resting near his heart is warm with the blue glow of Cas’ waiting grace. He could take it back at any time now, really, now that the pregnancy’s taken, but he hasn’t been in any hurry yet. If he starts to really suffer without it, he’ll take it back, his for the asking, but until then, Dean likes the feeling of being trusted with it. He likes holding Cas’ grace close to his heart… but also close to where their baby is growing.
He follows Cas along a meandering trail through the grass, trees spread out enough for easy passage from where they’ve parked to the picnic ground he’d chosen, overlooking a lake. Cas spreads out the blanket and offers Dean a solicitous hand down– not because he needs it, but because Cas likes to give it.
“So what’s the occasion?” Dean asks, as Cas kneels down beside him and begins unpacking their picnic. Bottles of still-chilled root beer, some kind of fancy organic brand because Cas had picked up a few of Sam’s food habits even if his tastes mostly run to Dean’s own. Peanut butter sandwiches and a big cluster of green grapes, and the fried chicken Dean’s been craving, something called a ‘pea salad’ that Dean is only on board with because it contains bacon, and okay, because he really is working on a healthy, well-rounded diet right now. A whole peach pie.
“I know you’ve been… fretting, about starting a family. And the bunker has been home, but it isn’t the home of your wildest dreams–”
“Cas, I’m happy.”
“I know.” He says, and shuts Dean up by popping a spoonful of pea salad into his mouth, rich with the salty kiss of bacon. “I know you are, and so am I. And it’s been… it’s been wonderful, watching everything Sam’s been doing with the next generation of hunters, taking a step back… seeing the two of you do for others what Bobby once did for you. We’ll always have a place in that bunker, but… I wanted to give you a place. Us a place.”
He puts together a plate, with a generous share of the fried chicken, and once that’s in Dean’s hands, he points out a house just up the rise of a gentle hill, a faded blue house with a white wraparound porch.
“Cas…?”
“It’s something of a fixer-upper, but we can fix it up together. We can put in a nursery. And whenever we are needed, we’re a short drive from Sam– and he’s a short drive from us. He can come out to join us.”
“We have a house?”
“I thought… this could be your new dream house?”
Dean looks up at the house, enough room to host visiting family– enough room for starting their own. A path down to a wooden dock on the lake, where he could teach a growing pup to fish, to swim. He looks at the picnic Cas has prepared, and at Cas himself, willing to endure every part of being human at his side… wanting to give Dean everything he’s ever wanted.
“Cas… this is better than any dream I’ve ever had.” He beams. “Now feed me a grape.”