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Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the highway and cut the engine. For a moment, the hood ticked, cooling after a long hour on the open road.
Castiel’s eyes went from the birds chirping in the thickets outside, to the blue sky over the empty road ahead, then turned in confusion towards Dean. “There’s no gas station here.”
Dean forced his tongue over his bottom lip, leaving a gloss. He bowed his head, eyes down, watching his own fingers stroke the bottom loop of the steering wheel. “I know,” he said quietly.
“Then why are we stopping?”
Dean’s eyes shot to Castiel, soft and wary, quickly lowering to see the way Castiel held his arms, pulling on his shirt sleeves to keep pressure on the wound in his back.
“C’mere,” Dean said, turning to crane over the front seat, reaching into the back. “Your bandage probably needs changing. Take your jacket and shirt off, I’mma DIY this shit.”
Castiel did as he was told without question. His suit jacket and bloodstained shirt crumpled around his waist, and he gritted his teeth and bore with the pain as the angel blade’s entry wound tore a little more. Lucifer’s stab had missed his spinal column, slicing neatly between his fourth and fifth rib, just to the left. Castiel had woken from what felt like a nap, groggy... hungry, thirsty. And in pain. Bleeding. But alive.
“Turn around,” Dean said, touching Castiel’s bare shoulder. “Kneel on the seat.”
Castiel did.
Dean peeled the cotton padding from Castiel’s sore back, making him hiss. Dean then pulled a muddy towel into his lap, shifting closer. He had a flask of holy water in his hand.
“Shouldn’t we get out?” Castiel asked lowly, watching Dean unscrew the flask lid.
“It’s just salt water,” Dean said gently. “Baby’s seen worse.”
Castiel leant his head down on the leather, arms stretched over into the back. He grunted as the first trickles of water slipped cool down his back, then gasped as Dean’s thick fingers touched the wound. He yelled in pain – face contorted, breath caught, fists clenched as Dean wiped a cloth over the injury, pouring water in a slow, measured stream.
“That’s it,” Dean said under his breath. “You’re all good. It’s all good, Cas, hold on.”
“G-aahhh,” Castiel cried, sobbing into his bicep. Searing, stinging sensation lurched from his back in waves, sickening him to a stomach he’d only been aware of for sixty-odd minutes, striking alarm into a nervous system he’d forgotten could be so responsive. He breathed hard, forcing exhales through narrowed lips like Dean did when he was trying to control pain. He felt tears seeping from the corners of his eyes.
“All right,” Dean said softly. He moved the flask away, wiping up with the sodden cloth. His canvas jacket and jeans made that familiar shuff sound as he reached to grab the towel, dropping it into water that had pooled on the seat. “Relax, man, the worst part’s over. I’mma pad you up. Least you won’t get infected.”
Castiel breathed out.
“We gotta worry about crap like that, now,” Dean said, almost to himself. “God knows where Lucifer’s angel blade had been.”
Castiel managed a single dull chuckle, resting with his face between his outstretched biceps as Dean placed a fresh cotton pad right over the wound. He taped it down, then paused.
“Hang on,” he said, swivelling in his seat. Castiel looked over, watching with no small amount of bewilderment as Dean folded forward to untie his boot. He pulled it free, then slipped off his sock: grey, with a hole in the toe. He came up grinning, giving a soft laugh. “Resourceful, right?”
He placed the balled-up sock on Castiel’s padded wound, then taped it tightly in place. “Pressure point, boom. Now sit with your back pressed against the seat, that oughta help.”
Castiel raised his eyebrows as he turned around. He moved slowly, trying not to dislodge the temporary bandage. As he sat, the balled-up sock did indeed put more intense pressure on the wound, but it was soft, and relieving.
“Good?” Dean asked.
“Good,” Castiel smiled. “Thank you.”
“Ahh,” Dean waved a hand. He said nothing else.
Although Castiel waited, Dean did not reach for the ignition key to start the engine again.
They sat in silence for a while. Castiel listened to the birds enjoying the morning sun outside, hopping between the thorns of the blackberry bush. Dean sat with his hands on the base of the steering wheel, one thumb tapping.
“Are we waiting for something?” Castiel asked.
Dean gulped. “Yeah.” A small smile made its way to one corner of his lips, but died there. “Me.”
Castiel eyed him, seeing hesitance and deep emotion in Dean’s expression.
“Look,” Dean said, letting go of the steering wheel, running his palms down his thighs instead. “You. You’re... back from the dead. Again. This is, what, the fifth time? Fourth?” He snuffled out a laugh and looked away, out of the window at the sunny field beyond the car’s encasement. “Might as well be the hundredth time for all the chances I’ve been given, y’know?”
“Chances for what?”
Dean shut his eyes now. Head down. “Cas...” He turned his head and gazed at Castiel with an expression Castiel had seen before, and yet couldn’t quite place. Sad, almost. Eager. Desperate – or guilty. Maybe all of those things.
“Cas, I gotta... tell you something. All right? And I need you to listen. This— God, this is really hard for me to say.”
“Of course.”
Castiel waited patiently. He said nothing as Dean said nothing.
And then, after a good ten seconds, Dean took a breath. “My dad,” Dean began, “he, uh. He taught me a lot about... love, I guess.”
When Castiel did not speak, Dean’s eyelids fluttered, and he had to reconfigure his muddled expression to neutral, rolling back his shoulders, letting go of a lungful of air.
Dean swallowed, then went on, “There was this thing Dad would do, when he was around. For me, it was anytime between the age of four, the day Mom died, and... the day Dad died. I was twenty-six.” Dean swallowed again, frowning now, eyes set on the cassette player in the car’s dashboard.
“If I did something wrong... If I let Sammy outta my sight. If I lost the motel room key. If I blocked up the can with paper and tried and failed to fix it— Hell, if I ran outta food money. If I asked the barber to cut my hair a bit different. Whatever. Whatever it was, if it was a bad move in his eyes—” Dean eyes rose to the roof of the car. “Dad would do this thing, I can’t really explain it. I couldn’t explain it for years. Even after he passed, I couldn’t put it into words. There was just something different about the way he looked at me. How he talked. He kinda... went cold on me, for a few hours, or a few days. Never lasted much longer than that though, ‘cause, see, he was never around that long.” Dean chuckled now, a sad grin tense on his face.
“He’d come back to us full of stories and smiles, usually. Sometimes he’d get mad when he came back – y’know, ‘cause I screwed up my task of adulting while he was gone, bein’ seven years old and all. But I figured out how to put a smile on his face. Make sure the motel’s tidy. Make sure Sam’s fed. Make sure everything’s proper and exactly the way he left it, so maybe nobody would notice he’d been gone eight days, four hours, forty-three seconds according to some motel radio clock that runs a little slow.”
Castiel watched how Dean’s expression failed, how a false smile relaxed away, becoming morose and honest.
“If I wasn’t giving my all, if I didn’t please him, he withdrew his love.” Dean looked at Castiel directly, apparently at peace with that statement. “His appreciation and approval came with a set of guidelines. Terms and conditions. I gotta check every box, or else he only kisses Sammy goodnight, not me.”
Tears shone in Dean’s waterline as he smiled again. “I never had a problem being treated like that. I just—? I thought that was how things were. I thought it was normal. But I’d talk to kids at school, whenever we had school – and yeah, some parents were strict, sure. The military families totally got the ‘sir’ thing. Gettin’ sent to bed without dinner wasn’t madness if you were real naughty, gettin’ a spanking either. The other kids thought it was cool that me ‘n Sammy got to hang out in a motel with no parents around. But, man,” Dean shook his head, “the way those kids looked at me when I asked how long their dad ignores them for, usually. They were like, haha, yeah, pops gets real into his model airplanes, doesn’t really respond until he smells supper cooking. I was like... no. I mean days on end, blanks you at every turn, doesn’t make eye contact, only talks to Sam.”
Dean fought to swallow. “Dad taught me a lot about love. Taught me how not to do it. Took me years and years after he died to pin down how I like to do things, and this is it.”
He looked tenderly at Castiel. “Cas, when I care about someone, it doesn’t come with terms and conditions. Someone can screw up, bad, and I keep on caring. We work through the shitty parts. Come to agreements. Stick together. I forgive the people I love, over, and over, and over.
“And yeah, I’ll admit, that sounds like a recipe for getting hurt and having to live with it. Go figure; that’s my life in a nutshell. I can’t say it’s healthy. Probably isn’t. But when I love someone, I love them. There’s no ifs and buts about it.
“Mom, and Sam. Claire, Jody. Charlie. Kevin. Bobby. Ellen and Jo. Throw a name at me, it’s true for all of you. You included.
“Whatever wrongs you do, whatever weaknesses you have, however many times you leave me, Cas, I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you. That’s just how it is for me.”
Castiel’s lips parted, barely able to believe that he was hearing these words from Dean. Dean spoke without pressure, or the immediate threat of death, free of direct encouragement. He spoke simply because he wanted to. Awe clenched Castiel’s at heartbeat and breath.
Dean continued, “I won’t ever ask you to change. I don’t want some... compromised version of you. I love you, as-is, what I see is what I get. Angel or human. All beat down, or all pumped up, hellbent on devouring Purgatory, making deals with the darkside – it’s part of the package. Even the crap, Cas. We both know you got a wicked destructive side.” They both smiled, Castiel in shame, Dean in amusement. “You’re the bad guy sometimes, and God help me, Cas, I’m as much into that as I am the freakin’ beekeeper in you.”
Dean’s smile dimmed, and he became serious again, speaking slowly, to be clear. “There’s no ‘if you did this one thing for me, I’d love you better’. I ain’t my dad. Whatever way I feel about you, it’s maxed out. There’s space in me for either all love, or no love, and you got it. All of it. Every last shred of it. So has Sam. And everyone else who ever gets on my good side. Even my dad. Unconditional love is just how I roll.”
There, Dean went silent.
He was done speaking.
Castiel gazed at him, bursting from the heart with all the love he had. He’d heard Dean’s piece, and as much as it moved him, he hated that he wanted more. He wanted to be content. But he wasn’t.
He refused to let the conversation end there.
“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel said, eventually. “Unconditionally.”
Dean pushed up a smile. “Yeah. Yeah... I... I know. That’s kind of the only reason anyone could bear to stick around someone like me, huh.”
He wet his lips, stroking the steering wheel again. Castiel worried they’d drive on without digging any deeper. They’d come so far in minutes alone, but what if they never went further? What if either of them died again, and this was as far as they’d ever get?
Castiel’s newly-human body bolted through with an emotion he’d never felt so potently. Dammit, they hadn’t come this far to only come this far. Castiel was going to push Dean one inch closer to their real destination.
“I love you in a different way,” Castiel said firmly. “My love for Sam is... ‘maxed out’, as you said. Same goes for you. You’re both my best friends.”
Dean couldn’t help but hear the unsaid ‘but’. He hesitated twice. Yet, in this moment of vulnerability, sitting secure in the safest place he knew in the world, Dean let his melting heart melt a little more. At last, his curiosity overrode years of self-enforced silence, and he asked, “But...?”
“But,” Castiel smiled. He looked at Dean’s clenched fists, and slid a hand to embrace his knuckles, soft warmth on hard warmth. “But...”
After all this, Castiel didn’t have the words to explain. He simply breathed out, meeting Dean’s eyes, hoping he knew and understood.
Dean sucked in his lips part-way, licking between them with the tip of his tongue. The slightest frown danced between his brows before dissipating.
Voice deep, eyes earnest, Castiel admitted, not for the first time: “You have every last shred I have to give, Dean.”
Dean’s grin flickered, a blush rising to his cheeks as he looked down at his lap. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not hard to work out. That’s why I—” He shrugged. “Every time you go, I regret saying nothing even more. You’ve told me a hundred different ways over the years, and I’ve never said it back.”
Castiel tilted his head.
Dean sighed. “Me too, all right? You gonna make me say it? Yeah, it’s a different kind of feeling. Different love. God, this is stupid,” he added under his breath, fidgeting. “Like, what’s new? I just thought it was important I said it. And it’s been said now, and we’re burning daylight, so let’s—” He grabbed the car keys and twisted the motor to life. “Supplies to get. Sam’s waiting, oughta get moving—”
“Dean.” Castiel placed a hand over Dean’s, squeezing it around the steering wheel. The car ran a foot forward, then bumped to a halt as Dean hit the brakes. He gulped hard and looked back at Castiel.
Castiel just sighed. He ignored the sting in his back, keeping away a scowl – he leaned forward and set a small kiss upon Dean’s unresponsive lips. As he pulled back, Dean licked his lips, eyes lowered.
A twitch caught the corner of his mouth, and raised it ever so subtly.
“‘Kay,” Dean said. He nodded. “Okay.” He sat straight in his seat, clearing his throat. “Cool.”
He opened his mouth and exhaled in delayed shock.
Castiel chuckled, then flinched when it hurt. Dean grinned at him, eyebrows angled outward in sympathy.
He was about to drive again, but held back, just for a moment. He looked around at the blue sky, the overgrown greenery heavy with berries, then smiled at Castiel. “Tell you what, Cas. Let’s get what we need from the store for your stab wound, and Jack the Devilspawn. Then you ‘n me come back here and pick some berries. ‘Cause I’m thinkin’ we’re missing an opportunity for blackberry pie, here. Y’know, to celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
Dean bit his lower lip, grinning.
“To celebrate you and me.... being...”
Dean was blushing, but it wasn’t too obvious.
“In love,” Castiel finished.
Dean’s smile grew until it was beaming bright and beautiful. He wriggled his bare foot back into his boot, then took hold of the wheel to drive.