Chapter Text
20??
Cas is overwhelmed by sensation. He’s in a vessel - his vessel; he recognises every inch of his borrowed body. There’s a hard, gritty surface beneath him, like packed dirt – he’s lying on his back, and he's naked, because he can feel it on the backs of his thighs and torso. He can smell hay, and sweat, and the iron tang of blood, and hear the soft cooing of a bird somewhere above.
A body thuds to the ground next to him. “Cas? Cas!”
Dean.
Fabric rustles, and then warm cloth is draped over his lower half. A zipper scrapes over his thighs – it must be Dean’s jacket. He’s breathing harshly, and where he grips Cas’ shoulder, hot blood oozes from his open palm.
“Hey, man, wake up.”
Cas tries to open his eyelids, but they won’t cooperate. His vocal chords are inert, too. Dean shakes him, but he can’t move a single muscle by himself.
“Jack, what’s going on?” Dean barks, and Cas feels another hand – it must be Jack’s, from the size of it – rest on his vessel’s bare chest.
“I’m not sure.” Jack sounds scared, too, and Cas tries to pray to him, to reassure his son. “I can feel him in here, but he’s not responding.”
Cas prays harder, tries to press his grace against Jack’s where it’s probing into his chest, but even that is paralyzed. Horror creeps into his mind. He’s back on Earth, and paralyzed.
This doesn’t feel like a hallucination made up by the Empty. It had left him alone this time, more intent on going back to sleep than torturing him, at least until Jack woke him up. If they’ve managed to resurrect him, then they must need him for something – perhaps defeating Chuck? And he can’t do anything to help. He's useless, yet again.
“So we did get him out?”
“Yes, but something’s wrong with his vessel. The Empty must have realised what we were doing and interfered as we were summoning him into it.”
Cas tries, again, to open his eyes, to speak, to let them know he’s there, but his vessel doesn’t respond, like a puppet with the strings cut.
“Okay. Okay. Maybe he just needs time. Right? Let’s—let’s get him back to the Bunker. We’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.” Jack’s hand trembles.
Dean’s voice turns soft. “Hey, you did good, kid. At least he’s out, right?”
“Yeah.”
Then Dean’s arms slide under his back and his knees, and he's being held against Dean's chest. He reeks of old sweat, alcohol, and the leather of the Impala’s seats. It’s comfortingly familiar, and after so long in an endless void, it’s almost too much to bear. His head lolls against Dean’s shoulder, the stubble on his cheek rasping against Cas’ forehead as he carries him out of whatever structure they resurrected him in. Dean instructs Jack to go ahead. There’s the creaking of an old wooden door, and they step out into cold, fresh air.
Dean shivers, the thin fabric of his t-shirt doing nothing to stop the body heat bleeding through. Trees rustle in the wind, and then there’s the familiar sound of the Impala’s trunk opening. Jack lays out a blanket on the backseat, and Dean wraps Cas in it, carefully, as though he's breakable.
Once he's safely ensconced in the back seat, Jack and Dean slide into the front, and they take him home.
Dean carries him into the Bunker, still swaddled in the blanket from the Impala. He’d gotten Jack to call Sam from the car and let him know what was happening, and Sam’s waiting in the War Room when they get back, but Dean refuses to let him carry him.
Selfishly, Cas is glad of it. If this is just a fantasy the Empty dreamed up to torture him, at least he can enjoy being held by Dean for a little while. And if this is real… well. He’s no use to Dean or anyone like this, so he might as well enjoy the brief respite before whatever crisis he’s needed for rears its ugly head.
Dean sets him down on a bed that is far softer than the usual Men of Letters fare. Cas retraces the route Dean brought him in on in his mind to figure out where they are, and his suspicions are confirmed when the bed dips next to him and Dean speaks.
“Figured if you’re doing the whole Sleeping Beauty routine, you might as well have the best bed in the joint. I figured you wouldn’t mind sharing with me, too, given, y’know. What you said. To be honest, I’m not inclined to let you out of my sight ever again. Who knows what stupid deal you’ll make next?” Dean clears his throat. “Course, if you got a problem with this, you could just wake up and tell me.”
Aside from the comment about the deal, Cas doesn’t have a problem with it at all, but he still tries to move his tongue, draw air in, anything to communicate. Nothing works, and Dean sighs and gets up.
“Well, least I can do is get you some clothes. Hope my stuff fits you.”
He rummages in his drawers, then the blanket is pulled away from Cas’ legs, so it’s covering his thighs up.
“I’m not peeking, promise.” Dean grips his ankles and dresses him, first in a pair of soft underwear, and then some worn sweatpants. Dean removes the blanket completely, sits up by the headboard, and slides an arm under Cas’ back to prop him up against his chest as he manoeuvres him into a t-shirt like a doll, then lays him back down in his bed. He even adjusts the pillow and pulls the covers up for him.
The entire experience is strange – first, having his body moved by someone else, as though he were possessed, and second, having Dean so close to him, treating him with so much kindness when Cas was sure that he would never even see him again. He is studiously not thinking about the implications of being in Dean’s bed, of all places.
Dean’s always been protective of this space. Growing up without a bedroom of his own, when he finally got one, he barely ever let anyone in. Except Cas. For some reason, he was allowed to come and go from Dean’s room as he pleased. Even after he’d stolen the Colt from under Dean’s pillow, he hadn’t been restricted from Dean’s personal space. Until Dean had created the Dean Cave, it was normal for them to huddle up together on his bed to watch a movie together, and once it was over, chat a little before Dean started to fall asleep and Cas left him to his slumber. Still, he’s never been in Dean’s bed before. Odd, when he thinks about their interactions when they first met. Dean’s personal space has grown larger, but he’s allowed in, now. That is, apparently, while he’s dead. Or almost dead.
Once Cas is dressed and settled under the covers, Dean pats his shoulder. “There, that’s better. Gotta say, it’s good to see you again, even if you’re comatose.” There’s a pause, like he’s waiting for an answer, but Cas can’t give him one. “Hell, I don’t know if you can even hear me. This is stupid.”
The bed shifts again, and there’s the click of a light switch.
“Gonna catch forty winks. Been on the road too long. You better still be here in the morning.”
Dean’s sleep is fitful; he wakes up several times, panting, and each time he clicks on the bedside lamp and touches Cas’ arm, like he’s trying to reassure himself that Cas is real. That’s helpful, since once he’s left alone with his thoughts, Cas begins to doubt this is real, too.
He tries to reason with himself – why would the Empty create a scenario like this? - but the only thing that stops him spiralling is listening to Dean’s labored breathing. He holds onto it like an anchor, keeping him grounded, like he has for years, whenever he’s allowed to stay while Dean sleeps.
As the night wears on, Cas manages to order his thoughts. The Empty, as vindictive as it is, gets bored easily. If this is a trick of it, it would likely have gotten tired a few hours in. Cas, meanwhile, treasures every moment in Dean’s presence, even if he is a terrible bedmate. Whatever his reason is for keeping close to Cas, it’s a welcome oddity.
After one such rough awakening, when Dean reaches out to reassure himself of Cas’ solidity, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he just lies there, hand wrapped around Cas’ wrist, taking deep breaths. It’s almost like holding hands.
When he falls asleep again, he manages to go a full hour without a nightmare. He's only disturbed by a knock at the door.
“Dean? You awake?” It’s Sam, voice muffled in the hallway. “Or Cas?”
Dean tenses, his hand clenching around Cas’ wrist. “What do you want?” he snaps.
The door opens, and Sam must poke his head in, because Dean lets go and sits up. Cas immediately misses his warmth.
“He hasn’t woken up? Nothing happened?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
Sam sighs. “Jack and I started in on research, but we haven’t found anything yet. You gonna come out and help us?”
No, Cas thinks, Don’t leave me on my own in here. There’s a real chance he’ll go mad with questioning his own existence, but also, selfishly, he’ll miss Dean’s company.
Thankfully, Dean doesn’t seem inclined to get up. “Bring me my laptop, I’ll look for cures and shit in here.”
“Dude, he’s not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that. The Empty might come back and take him, or he might just wake up and— I’m not leaving him, Sam. No way.”
“I can stay with him if you don’t want him to wake up alone—”
“I said no. If you don’t have anything helpful to say, then get the hell out.”
“You can’t just keep him locked up with you, Dean—”
“Out!”
The door slams shut, and Sam stomps away down the corridor. Dean breathes out, slowly. His fingers close around Cas’ wrist again.
“Sorry, man, but I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Sam returns a little later with Dean’s laptop. He’s still irritated with Dean, but they manage not to fight again, which is a relief. He also pokes and prods at Cas’ vessel, testing his reactions, but that just leaves all three of them disappointed. Once he’s gone back to the library, Dean settles back down on the bed with his laptop. His thigh brushes up against Cas' shoulder, and he reads out excerpts from the things he’s looking at, which is comforting. All Cas can do is lie there and listen, but Dean’s voice is so steady and familiar it calms him despite the situation.
“Says here it can be helpful to keep talking to coma patients, gives them something to hold onto.” Dean tells him. “I dunno if you can hear me or not, but if you want me to shut up and quit botherin’ you, you’ll have to wake up and tell me yourself.” He pokes Cas’ chest, and Cas wishes he could open his eyes to glare at Dean and tell him he’s not bothering him. Much.
This one-sided conversation goes on for several hours. Sam brings Dean dinner, and mentions Jack finding a promising lead that didn’t pan out. He doesn’t stick around to elaborate, just goes back to his books.
Dean eats while scrolling through some sort of Pagan internet forum. He’s stopped reading out excerpts, instead grumbling about ‘idiot fake witches’ until he snaps the laptop shut.
“All this research is doing my head in, I’m gonna take a break.” he announces. “You wanna talk?”
He leaves an expectant silence in which Cas tries and fails to reply.
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
There’s a clunk and a clatter as Dean sets the laptop and his plate aside. He gets up, muttering to himself about comatose angels, and busies himself tidying his room. There’s a lot of clinking of what Cas assumes are empty bottles. Dean has always had a problem with alcohol, and whatever he needs Cas for is obviously stressing him out. None of his family have mentioned Chuck, so at least it seems like that threat has been dealt with. In fact, nothing has been mentioned of any threat, just the problem of getting Cas to wake up. That doesn’t mean he’s not needed, though. This entire situation is infuriating.
While Dean bustles around the room, Cas focuses on trying to manipulate his grace, but it won’t budge. That’s probably a good thing, because he gets so frustrated that if he were suddenly unleashed he would make half the Bunker’s lightbulbs explode. From the vehement way Dean’s shoving mess around his room, he’s not doing much better.
When he runs out of things to do, he comes to a stop by Cas’ side of the bed. The silence stretches, his mood unreadable.
“Why’d you do it, Cas?”
He starts to pace, doubling back on himself in the tight quarters of his room.
“I mean, I get why you made the stupid deal in the first place, but why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me? We coulda figured something out. I could have saved you.” Dean stops at the foot of the bed. “What, you didn’t think you deserved to be saved?”
He’s quiet for a long time after that. Cas hears him take a swig from one of the bottles he hadn’t thrown out, and Dean keeps drinking until the bottle is empty. He throws it in the trash bag with the others. Then, he crawls into bed next to Cas, flopping down on his back, their shoulders pressed together. Cas is still reeling from his outburst, trying to make sense of Dean’s words, when to his horror, Dean’s breathing hitches on a broken sound, the only indication that he’s started to cry. Perhaps this is the Empty’s idea of torture. Forcing him to listen to Dean falling apart, unable to help.
“Wish you’d wake up, man. There’s so much I gotta say to you.” He turns on his side, face inches from Cas’. He can smell the cheap whiskey on his breath. “Jack said he could tell you were in there, that we didn’t bring back an empty vessel, but you’re freaking me out. You’re not even breathing. I know you don’t need to, but the only thing telling me you ain’t a corpse is the fact that you’re still warm.”
He takes Cas’ wrist in both of his hands, bows his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. “I need you, man. I can’t even sleep without knowing you’re here. Just— If you can hear me, Cas, please. I need you. Come back.”
Cas is attuned to Dean’s prayers by now, knows the feel of them like they’re a part of him. He doesn’t know if Dean means to pray, but there’s so much longing behind his words it turns them into a prayer nonetheless. It thrums through him, tugging at his grace like it always does, except now it hurts. His entire being aches to reach out and comfort Dean, but he gets no respite; Dean keeps praying, wordlessly, just an endless stream of longing, even after he falls asleep.
True to his word, Dean barely leaves his side over the next week, except to use the restroom. Cas can tell when he’s coming back by his hurried footsteps, and each time he opens the door, there’s a moment of hopeful silence followed by a sigh as Cas fails to wake up or do anything to acknowledge him. Then, the covers shift, the mattress dips, and Dean settles beside him again like it’s natural.
A few times he apologises to Cas for being so ‘clingy’, but his presence is the only thing keeping Cas sane. He’s taken to keeping physical contact between them at all times, whether holding Cas' wrist or pressing his leg up against his side while he sits against the headboard with his laptop. When he’s not frustrated by his paralysis, Cas revels in Dean’s ‘clinginess’, and tries not to wonder whether Dean would still allow the contact if he knew Cas could perceive it.
Sam and Jack find a few curse-breaking spells in their research, but none of them work. With each attempt, Sam does the spellwork, Dean paces the room or helps with the casting, and when it doesn’t work again, Jack steps in to check that Cas is still there, trapped inside his vessel. No matter what he tries, he can’t communicate with Jack, but it is a comfort to feel his son’s grace press against his own, like a one-sided hug. He can feel the worry etched into Jack’s being, and it’s echoed in Dean’s pacing and Sam’s fraught answers to their questions.
After the fourth failed attempt in as many days, Dean snaps that he needs a break and storms out, slamming the door behind him. Sam tells Jack to stay and keep an eye on Cas while he clears up the used spell ingredients and follows Dean, hopefully to calm him down.
Jack alights on the bed in Dean’s usual spot, although he leaves a little distance between them. He hasn’t come in much since Cas got back.
“Hey, Dad.” Jack says. It’s good to hear his voice.
“I’ve heard Dean talking to you, sometimes, when I go past his room. He says you might be able to hear us.” Jack fiddles with the blanket. “I hope you know how hard we’re trying to get you back. We all missed you so much when you were gone. I’ve never seen Dean so bad. He wasn’t even angry or anything, like after... after Mary, or when I was born and you were dead the first time. He was just so empty. We all were. Sam’s the angry one, this time around. Dean still hasn’t told us how you summoned the Empty, but I think Sam knows. And I think Dean’s mad at me for not telling him about your deal, but I told him you made me promise not to, and I did help him get you back. Even if it went wrong.”
Jack sniffles and shifts closer, lays a hand over Cas’ chest, and presses his grace up against Cas’. Cas tries to press back, to return the gesture, but he’s just as stuck as ever. Still, despite the lack of response, Jack calms down, his grace going from roiling and agitated to simple worry again.
“I don't know what I'll do if you don't wake up.”
Dean’s footsteps approach up the hallway, slow, for once. Jack straightens up and draws his grace and his hand back reluctantly. The door creaks open, and Dean’s footsteps stop.
“Oh. Hey, kid.”
“Hey.”
There’s a few moments of silence that Cas can’t read. He prays to no-one in particular that Dean has calmed down and won’t lash out at Jack like he used to, not while Cas can’t defend his son.
But maybe the speech he gave Dean before the Empty took him sank in, because Dean’s voice is nothing but concern when he asks, “You okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”
“I’m scared he won’t wake up.” Jack whispers, like it’s a terrible secret.
He expects Dean to brush it off, or make a joke about chick-flick moments, but instead, he just sighs.
“Yeah. Me too.” He comes closer, standing next to Jack. Cas hears him pat Jack’s shoulder, like he does when he’s trying to be encouraging. “But Sam just gave me a whole speech about keeping hope alive and shit. You got him out. We'll finish the job. We just gotta have faith, right? He wouldn’t give up on any of us. We’re not giving up on him.”
“Yes. Of course.” Jack stands up, and Cas misses him already.
He must still look pitiful, because Dean asks, “Uh. You want a hug?”
There’s a rustling of fabric, a soft oof from Dean, and another encouraging back-pat. Jack’s voice is muffled when he says,
“Thanks, Dean.”
“’S nothing. Least I can do till Cas wakes up. He gives way better hugs.”
Jack snickers at that. The hug lasts for another long moment before he pulls away, says goodnight to the both of them and ‘I love you’ to Cas, then slips out of the room, sounding steadier than before. Cas wonders if either of them know how happy that small interaction has made him.
Dean doesn’t take his place at Cas’ side right away. He stays standing by the bed for a moment, his mood inscrutable. Cas tries to guess what his expression is. He’d give anything just to open his eyes and see his family again. The endless black is grating.
“That kid really does love you, you know?” Dean says, snapping out of whatever reverie he’s been in. He crawls into bed next to Cas, pressed side to side again, the backs of his fingers skimming against Cas’ knuckles. His voice is hushed when he adds, “He’s not the only one.”
If Cas could move, he’d take Dean’s hand. As if reading his mind, Dean’s fingers creep into his, holding gingerly at first, like he’s afraid Cas will wake up and push him away if he notices what he’s doing. But he gets bolder, his grip tightening until Cas knows if he were human it’d hurt. Being who and what he is, though, it just feels secure, and when Dean turns on his side and presses his nose to Cas’ shoulder, his entire being yearns to pull Dean closer.
Dean stays like that for a long while, only getting up to eat and then brush his teeth before he climbs back in next to Cas, taking his hand like he’s entitled to.
It’s been so long since Cas last allowed himself to hope. The feeling is foreign to him by now, but it works its way into his being nonetheless.
Dean falls asleep holding onto Cas, and during the night his other arm comes up to tighten around Cas’ waist, draping his body over Cas and burying his face in Cas’ neck. For once, he doesn’t wake from a nightmare, and Cas imagines that he’s choosing to stay still so as not to disturb Dean. That this is normal, that Dean will allow him to stay in his bed when they both wake because he wants him there, not just because he’s overprotective.
The critical voice in his head that helped him stay alive this past year points out that Dean is human, and his subconscious is probably making him naturally gravitate towards the other warm, humanoid body in his bed. It might mean nothing.
Still, he hopes.
Dean pulls back quickly when he awakes, apologizing to Cas like he’s done something unforgivable, instead of giving Cas something he’s wanted for years.
Jack brings him breakfast, and they chat a little while Dean eats. It’s the most words he’s heard them exchange since they rescued him, and even if it’s just about the research they’ve been doing, it feels more friendly than before. Dean thanks him for the food, then asks him to take over his vigil for a bit while he showers.
Jack sits by Cas again and tells him about the world, post-Chuck. Cas can’t fathom the fact that they’re all really, truly free, that Jack somehow managed to redistribute Chuck’s energy into the universe so there’s no need for any God to take his place. Sam’s plans to create a hunting network have been put on pause by Cas’ affliction, which Cas feels guilty about, but he can’t very well apologise for it unless he actually wakes up. For a moment, he wonders what they’ll do with his vessel when they realise he can’t be woken, but Dean’s words from last night bolster him. He has faith in his family.
Dean returns quickly, smelling of mint shampoo and warm water, wearing his dead guy robe – the cuff of it brushes over Cas’ forehead as Dean pushes a stray lock of hair away from his face – and, once Jack is gone, seems content to just sit in silence with him for a while as he taps away at his laptop.
Cas isn’t sure if the silence is awkward or not, since Dean hasn’t talked to him since he apologised for ‘cuddling’ him earlier, but he’s so focused on figuring out what Dean is thinking that he doesn’t hear Sam approaching until he barges into the room.
“Dude, what the hell?” Dean squawks.
“Hey, Dean, get this. You remember I asked Rowena for help?”
“Yeah?”
“She found a heavy duty spell for waking people from magical comas that she says will work!”
“Really?”
“Are you doubting me, Dean?” Rowena’s sing-songy voice comes over the speaker on Sam’s phone. “I’m hurt. If it weren’t darling Castiel you were trying to save, I’d have a mind not to help you after all.”
“Sorry, Rowena.” Dean grits out, making a passable attempt at contrition. “It’s just we’ve tried plenty of spells already.”
“Ah, yes, but this is an ancient spell, proven to work over centuries, which has been modified by the Queen of Hell herself to work for your precious angel.”
“That’s great, Rowena, thank you.” Sam says, in the tone of voice he uses when he’s trying to remind Dean about manners. “We owe you big time.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Samuel. All I request in return is what I discussed with yourself and that lovely girlfriend of yours.”
Sam clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“The spell, Rowena?” Dean butts in.
“Yes, yes, you impatient lout. I adapted it from the spell that awoke the real Sleeping Beauty in days of yore, added a few bits and bobs and translated it into Enochian to tailor it for an angel. Of course, since the Empty is older than angels, there’s no guarantee it will work, but--”
“Wait, Sleeping Beauty? What, do we need a Prince Charming to give him true love’s kiss?”
“It requires a few ingredients, all of which I’m sure you’ll find in that fortress of yours, and yes, Dean, ‘The kiss of a deep and profound love.’ Several kisses, in fact. You’ll have to decide among yourselves who dear Castiel’s Prince Charming might be, although I do have an inkling.” Cas can hear the laughter behind her words. If she wasn’t helping them, he’d want to smite her for it.
“Right.” Dean chokes out. “Okay. Tell us the other ingredients, we’ll go get ‘em.”
“Very well.” Rowena starts listing off herbs and spices, and Sam and Dean hurry off to collect them, leaving Cas alone and adrift in his thoughts.
A kiss. Kissing. It is possible that the love in question could be interpreted as familial love, and the kiss could be platonic. If Dean is the one to administer the cure – if it even works – he could push Cas away afterwards. He’s said, several times, that he loves Cas as a brother.
But the way Dean held him last night, and the things he’s been saying – they combine with the promise of a kiss to encourage the hope that's been growing in Cas like a weed. He recalls the daydreams he used to have, all the times he's seen Dean kissing women, wondering if he would ever kiss Cas the same.
He's terrified to find out.
It’s a long time till anyone returns. Dean barges in first, followed by Sam and Jack, bottles of ingredients clinking in their arms. Rowena’s still on speaker, and she instructs Sam and Jack in mixing up a complicated potion in a consecrated iron bowl with one of their many angel blades.
The scrape of metal against metal ratchets up Cas’ apprehension.
Meanwhile, Dean moves around the room, placing candles at regular intervals, igniting them with the familiar click of his lighter. Then, Dean’s hands are on him, cradling his head and lifting his torso.
“Sorry, buddy. Part of the spell.” Dean murmurs, as he wrestles his t-shirt off Cas’ body. He lays him down again gently, and adjusts his head to lie more comfortably on the pillow.
“Potion’s done.” Sam announces. He sets the metal bowl on the bedside table. “You know what you need to do?”
“Uh. Yeah. I got it.”
“Okay.” Sam pats his brother’s shoulder. “Good luck.”
“Give that angel an extra smooch from me!” Rowena calls over the phone as Sam carries it out. “And remember, say it from the heart!”
Jack lingers for a moment, double-checking for Dean that Cas is still in his vessel. His grace hums excitedly. “I really hope this works.”
“You and me, both, kid.” Dean laughs nervously. “Just gotta have faith, right?”
“Right,” Jack says, "I'm sure it will work this time."
Then the door shuts behind him, and Cas is alone. With Dean. In Dean’s bedroom. Waiting to be kissed.
He tries to distract himself with thoughts of his last few moments on Earth, the tears in Dean’s eyes as he’d begged him not to sacrifice himself. It doesn’t work, especially once Dean dips his fingers into the potion Sam and Jack brewed and starts painting sigils on Cas' chest, his fingers moving timidly at first, but then pressing in, working the magic into his skin. He chants, quietly, in Enochian – Castiel, beloved of mine, awaken – leaning in close so that his words ghost warm over the drying lines of potion he's drawing across his pectorals.
Dean pays extra attention to a sigil over his vessel’s heart, and then, just as Cas wonders if this is it, because it is already so much, Dean presses his lips to the centre of it.
It’s enough to make Cas’ heart skip a beat, which is odd, because it hasn’t been beating since he returned from the Empty.
He realises this at the same time as Dean does, his words stuttering to a halt against Cas’ skin as his heart stutters to life under his lips. Dean draws in a sharp breath, then pulls back, chanting with excited conviction, drawing lines in potion out from Cas’ heart, up over his shoulders and down to the back of his hands, where he draws another sigil on each palm, then lifts it to his mouth to press a kiss there, too. Tingling rushes through Cas’ limbs, the blood beginning to flow again, and when Dean draws back the covers and removes the soft sweatpants he dressed Cas in a week ago, his fingers twitch of their own accord.
Dean doesn’t notice this, too busy drawing more lines from his heart down over his hips to the soles of his feet, where he creates more sigils, kissing each one after completion. By the time he moves back up to the head of the bed, Cas can open and close his fingers, and Dean notices, scrabbling for his open hand with his clean one.
“Castiel, beloved of mine, awaken.” he says, desperation in his voice. Cas’ grip is weak, but Dean clings to him as he draws one more line of the potion up over his throat. He draws a sigil on his left cheek and kisses it, hurried but gentle, then his forehead, then his right cheek, each sigil joined by a line of potion, each kiss sending a wave of tingling through disused muscles. Then, Dean’s chanting falters. He doesn’t stop, but his fingers stall beside Cas’ lips.
Where Cas was revelling in the contact, doubt creeps in.
Instead of painting the potion onto Cas’ lips with his fingers, Dean removes himself from Cas entirely.
Cas panics, untethered, suddenly sure that he never left the Empty, that this was all just a trick designed to break his heart and his spirit. His fingers flex against the blankets on Dean's bed. No, this is real, it has to be real—
Dean’s lips press firmly against his own, warm and slick with potion. The iron tang of blood fills Cas’ senses, mixed with herbs and magic and Dean. Dean keeps incanting, mumbling the words into Cas’ mouth, gripping Cas’ face and tilting it for a better angle. His chest is pressed against Cas’, no doubt smudging the sigils, but he feels Dean pray – Come on, come on, you stubborn bastard, please – and then a burst of magic explodes from their joined lips, racing along the lines Dean drew on him. It tingles.
He gasps, taking in air that has come from Dean’s lungs, eyes opening to meet Dean’s, shocked and glistening.
Dean jolts back, although since he was crouched over Cas he ends up kneeling on his lap. They stare at each other for a long, long moment, both breathing hard.
“I can’t believe that fairy tale crap actually worked.” Dean says. Well. That's not what Cas was expecting.
“Rowena is very good at what she does.” His voice is rough from disuse, and he coughs, propping himself up on an elbow. Dean reaches past him and thrusts a bottle of water into his hands. “Thank you.” He drains it in a matter of seconds, then places the empty bottle on the floor.
“Uh. You’re welcome.” Dean is staring at his lips. He licks his own, grimaces, and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Then he freezes, eyes darting to Cas. “Wait. You could hear us?”
Cas nods. His head is wobblier than he'd bargained. “Thank you for staying with me. I appreciated the company.”
“You... Right. Yeah. Okay. No problem?” Dean runs a hand through his hair. His gaze skates over the lit candles on the desk and the dresser. “Not like I wanted to be anywhere else. But I guess it was obvious how I feel about you, huh?”
He rubs the back of his neck and glances at Cas again. Oh. He’s nervous. He’s saved the world countless times, he’s fought God and won, but this is what makes him nervous?
Then again, Cas isn’t faring much better. “You love me?”
“Of course I do."
"You're in love with me."
"You don't gotta sound so shocked."
"Dean, you said I was like a brother to you. Multiple times."
Dean winces. "Yeah, well, that was cause I thought, y'know. Angel. Just— you'd only feel brotherly love or whatever. I still can’t believe that you— I mean, if you want to take back what you said—”
“No. I don’t.”
"You meant it in, like. A non-brotherly way?"
"Yes, Dean."
“Then. Yeah. Okay.” Dean’s still staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. “Yeah, I'm in love with you.”
Cas takes advantage of his newfound mobility to reach out and pull Dean into a bone-crushing hug. It's clumsy, his limbs still heavy and uncoordinated, but Dean makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, and then his arms come up to scrabble against Cas’ back, holding on as though he might disappear. He huffs a laugh into Cas’ shoulder.
“Guess you’ve still gotta recover from being mostly dead, huh, Westley?”
“Is that a reference?”
Dean draws back, steadying Cas with an arm around his waist. His lips are still stained by the potion, and his hair is a mess, but his eyes are shining and he looks happier than Cas has seen him in years. “Fuck, I love you.”
Cas returns his smile, and Dean melts, leaning forward to let their mouths hover barely an inch from each other, like he’s asking permission. Cas tilts his face towards Dean’s, and Dean gets the hint, holding Cas still as he kisses him, licking into his mouth and taking. Cas, still getting used to inhabiting a body again, is content to let Dean hold him there and kiss him thoroughly while he regains movement in his extremities. When Cas runs a hand up his back to rest in his hair, he shivers, breaking the kiss.
"Are you alright?" Cas asks, because Dean is still shaking.
Dean tips his forehead to rest against Cas', eyes screwed shut. “I love you so much, Cas, you got no idea— I've been fucking lost without you, I swear, you gotta know I love you—” and then he’s crying, tears tracking silently down his face.
"I'm so sorry, Dean." Cas says, alarmed. He clumsily wipes a tear from Dean's cheek. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I honestly didn't think you would miss me that much."
"Yeah, well, I did." Dean's grip on him tightens. "Asshole. If you ever put me through that again, I'll kill you myself."
"I think that would be counterproductive."
"You're an idiot."
"I love you too."
Dean laughs, a wry, wet thing. He wraps himself around Cas, burrowing into him like he's trying to merge their bodies into one. Cas clings back, just as tight, amazed he's allowed this at all. He presses a kiss to Dean's temple, just because he can. Dean presses one to his cheek, and they trade kisses back and forth for a while, until Dean's tears have dried and his mood lightened.
“So you'll stay?” he asks, murmuring against Cas' lips.
“In the Bunker?”
“With me. I meant what I said, Cas. I can’t lose you again. I need you. Please— please don’t leave me.”
“Of course, Dean. I would happily spend eternity by your side."
"Goddamn, Casanova. You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy." Dean’s adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and Cas chases it with his lips, tasting Dean's sweat, chasing his freckles down to the neck of his t-shirt. Dean tugs at his hair, pulling him up to plunder his mouth with a fervour Cas has rarely experienced.
He’s suddenly keenly aware of his nudity, as well as all the places Dean is pressed up against him. Dean bends down to kiss the sigil over his heart, and Cas forgets how to breathe for a moment. Dean stares up at him, as though in worship.
“You can have me, you know. Whatever you want.”
“I want... I don't know what I want. I didn't think you would ever offer."
"Well, I'm offering." Dean grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness. He’s beautiful. Cas mirrors his grin, relaxing into Dean’s warmth. “We can take it slow. We're retired now, in case you hadn't gathered. We can do what we want."
"I'd like to be your romantic partner."
Dean laughs. "Sure. Alright. Partner. You wanna stay in my bed, too? That's, y'know, couple-y. And I’ve kinda gotten used to you being here. We could sleep together, y'know, after we sleep together.”
“I don’t sleep.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Wanna watch over me instead?”
“Always.”