Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The wind changed, the first day that you came through

Cut the corn, washed it clean

Now everything that’s ever gone before, is like a blur

And it’s all because of you

And now I find, this city’s like a stranger to me

I once was fooled by Cadillac’s and honey

But no one feels like you"

James Vincent McMorrow - And If My Heart Should Somehow Stop

 

With only a single step out into the daylight, Castiel quickly regretted the decision to venture out of his apartment. The sun warmed his face, but not enough to shield him from the thick November breeze that chilled his face. His dog had woken him with chewed couch pillows and his coffee mug, which he found smashed on the floor. He scratched his hand on the ceramic, and wound up sneezing more than he expected with the dusty feathers still floating around. Too tired to even scold at the Bloodhound, he decided that an early coffee and some time dedicated to his writing would wake him up. Then, after minimal interruptions that included his next door neighbor being arrested, he was out of the building. He took quick strides down the concrete and he hugged the jacket closer to his body, letting the messenger bag on his shoulder be embraced.

Icarus Cafe, a coffee shop a of blocks down from his apartment complex, was one of the few places that Castiel could call his favorite. Not because of Balthazar’s ‘polite’ description of the man behind the counter, but because of it’s quaint qualities and comfortable atmosphere. It reminded him of his home. The coffee tasted good, too.

Castiel stumbled ungracefully through the door, rushing to escape the cold winds and get to warmth. He stands a moment, feeling his cheeks flush from the thawing of his face, and adjusts the strap of his messenger bag.

“Hey, Castiel,” a man with a broad, sturdy build greets him with lazy smile.

“The drawl, Cassie. It’s like fresh honey drizzled on a warm biscuit,” Balthazar’s voice groans in his head. And Castiel could appreciate a good looking man. Benny was, in fact, very handsome, from his kind smile to his charming, Southern drawl. Though it didn't stir anything in him, Castiel still liked to look.

He smiled. "Hello, Benny. I'll be having the usual today."

"Alright, I'll have Joanna bring it over."

"Now you're just doin' that to bother me," a voice sounded from the back room.

Jo, a slight girl with blonde hair swaying behind her in a ponytail and a permanent smirk on her face to match the mischief gleam in her eyes, rounded the corner. She was frail looking, for lack of a better word, however her right hook made up for her lack of build. She launched a foot out towards Benny in a makeshift kick. Benny moved to the side, chuckling to himself.

"Hey, Castiel," she grinned, placing the mug she was drying on the counter. "How goes the writing?"

He acknowledged, "it's coming along. However, assignments have gotten in the way of my completion of anything."

Jo shook her head in response and began to fiddle with the coffee machines, queuing Castiel to move over to a table. A snug booth near the corner of the coffee shop, his spot, sat empty and open for Castiel. The winter sunlight that streamed in through the window reflected off the screen of the cellphone that he placed on the table and shone in his eyes, causing him to squint and turn it over. The music was soft and drawled out from the speakers up high in the corners of the soft brown walls, and not many people were in the quaint shop today, which Castiel was thankful for.

Pulling a laptop from his messenger, Castiel settled into the cushion seating and kneaded his fingers against each other to thaw the icing feeling. Finally, he began his work, becoming so immersed in it that he did not notice the coffee that Jo placed on his table until a few paragraphs in.

When Castiel pulled himself away from his work, he realized something felt different. The coffee on his table tasted like his usual, he checked, and the music continued to play softly in the background. He blinked at the movement at right and realized what, or who it was.

On the other side of the shop, wiping down a table in a gruff manner, was a man in a shirt buttoned up from his wrists to his neck and long, jean-clad legs. His eyebrows were scrunched in concentration, and Castiel could not help but stare in wonder. In all of his months of coming to this coffee shop, he had never seen this man. It made him curious. Who was he? Was he new? Why had he never seen this man before?

Castiel stared, and as his sister Anna often pointed out, Castiel failed to follow social rules. It took less than a minute for the man to catch him and lock eyes.

What a sight to see.

The forest green eyes that locked on to Castiel's took him by surprise. The man's strong jaw twitched a little, covered in stubbly hair and distant freckles that wandered away from his cheeks and nose. He stood tall, and his Adam's apple bobbed as the man swallowed down what Castiel would assume was anxiety. Then the green eyed man looked away.

Curious.

His eyes wandered over his face once more before he turned back to his laptop. He did not want to scare the man with his creepy ways.

Around 7 am, the morning rush began, starting out with a few lawyers and doctors. University students, followed by a few high schoolers, came after that wave, filling the cafe with their tired conversations and excited gossip. Seeing that he could not work in the noisy environment, Castiel packed away his stuff and left the cafe.

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Castiel came back at the same time the next morning, carrying his messenger bag and wearing a tan trench coat this time. The warmth that greeted him when he entered the cafe sent serene chills down his arms and legs and gave him, what he guessed, a flushed face.

"Not very used to the cold, are you?"

Jo stood behind the counter with a sweater on this time.

"We uh...my parents and I usually go down south for the winter," he ground out, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest on the warm pastry glass.

Jo hummed in response and went to start up the machine.

"The usual?"

"Yes," he agreed.

As he clumsily unbuttoned his coat, Castiel saw a movement towards the left. Glancing quickly but finding himself struggling to look away, he spotted the green eyed man standing near the center tables. Today he wore a mint green shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck and wrists and heavy looking boots over soft jeans. He held a mop and swished it in circular motions, dipping it once into the bucket next to him. The muscles and veins in the green eyed man's arms moved with the motion if the mop, and Castiel could not help but wonder how they would look holding his legs up in the air when-

"Castiel!"

"What?" He shook his head of the dirty daydream, feeling his cheeks warm and flush red.

Jo raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest and looking on with an amused look at the flustered Castiel.

"Did you want something else, or are you going to stand there all day looking like a deer in headlights?"

"Uh no..I mean yes," he fumbled and gripped arbiter atrap of his bag tightly," but not anything..er.."

"What is it?" He could see that she was becoming impatient.

"Who is that green eyed man?" He questioned nervously. "The one who is mopping as we speak?"

Jo stood straight, and Castiel watched her amusement turn to defensiveness. He toyed with the strap of his messenger bag, cursing his curiosity as he retracted, "Nevermind. I uh...I am going to go sit."

"Don't go bothering him," she snapped, confusing Castiel further, "you hear me?"

His eyes widen and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Had he said something wrong? Had he asked the wrong thing? He had not meant to be intrusive.

Castiel lowered his head and scratched at his neck.

"I.. I'd never..My apologies," he murmured, sparing one look to Jo and turning to walk to his usual seat.

He sunk low into his seat, pulling out his laptop and (to begin) beginning his work on his assignment. He had decided to put his writing on hold after hitting a wall and not knowing how to move forward with the main character. He resisted the urge to look over at the green eyed man, deciding it was best not to anger Jo further. Maybe he was her partner, or something. He hoped not.

He never received his coffee.

When he went home, he called Balthazar. He told him about his classes, his writer's block, and the man at the coffee shop.

"Cassie, darling, I think what you have is a crush. And a bad case of sexual frustration."

"Balthazar," Castiel groaned inwardly.

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Castiel returned to the coffee shop Friday morning, three days after asking Jo about the man. He found himself to be a bit hurt by Jo's sudden hostility towards him and thought it would be best to stay away from the shop for awhile. Jo treated him like an old friend when he walked into the coffee shop that first day, flustered and overwhelmed by Balthazar's heavy questioning and gossiping, and she became his first friend. Of course she hurt his feelings.

Luckily, Benny stood behind the counter today with a wet rag in hand, wiping down the counter and humming along to soft music that droned out of the speakers. He smiled kindly as Castiel walked through the door.

"Hey, Castiel. Thought I'd never see you back here again."

"Hello Benny," he responded, " I was..er...preoccupied."

From the back room, Jo peaked her head out.He averted his eyes to the pastry window, pointing to the blueberry scones that sat on the plate.

"May I have one of these?"

"Yeah," Benny assented, "I'll just have Jo bring 'em out with your coffee."

Castiel tipped his head gratefully and made his way over to his booth. The man with the green eyes stood at the table behind him, wiping down the seats and adjusting the contents on the table. He chanced a glance at the man, noting the today he wore a long sleeved turtle neck and loose jeans, before sliding into the booth. Today, he only brought his book and his notepad along, deciding that a work free morning to compliment his class free morning was in order.

A few minutes into his reading, he noticed Jo sitting across from him with two mugs and two blueberry scones on a plate. One mug sat plain and grasped in between her hands, and the other decorated with tiny peppermint swirl and untouched on the table. He peaked over the edge of his book to meet Jo's gaze, seeing the apologetic frown and her tight grip on the mug.

"Dean," she muttered, fiddling with the handle of the mug. "His name is Dean."

Castiel sucked in a breath and closed his book. Jo's eyes wandered over his shoulder, causing him to look back and at the retreating back of the man, Dean.

"He's my brother. Sort of. He doesn't talk much."

"He's mute?" Castiel wondered aloud as he turned back to her.

"Selectively, the doctors said..but he's said a few things. And he's extremely shy."

He thought about this. It would explain why he had not heard a word from the man, or why he just started seeing him after months of coming to coffee shop.

"Doctor said he needs a little push, cause y'know, he's been through a lot, so Benny put him out here and out of the back room."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Jo sighed, placing her mug on the table, and looked at Castiel with wide, sincere eyes.

"S'my way of sayin' sorry for how I acted Tuesday," she began, "I was rude. I just... I get protective of him. He's been through a lot and you're not the first one to take interest in my silent brother, most with bad intentions and I just thought you might, I d'know, wanna hurt him or something. Bad judgement, on my part."

Castiel's mouth twitched, "I was always too curious for my own good."

Jo smiled and pushed his cup and plate towards him.

"Fair warning, he doesn't really like strangers."

Castiel watched her rise from the seat across him and and walk towards the counter. Benny elbowed her lightly, to which she responded with a slap on the arm and a quick smirk. Castiel smiled, took a bite out of his scone, and returned to his book.

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As Castiel exited the coffee shop, he looked through the window at Dean, who now stood by a table as he collected the mugs and plates.

Dean.

Castiel smiled, realizing the name fit him perfectly. The man in question suddenly stood, scrunching his eyebrows and locking wide, green eyes on Castiel. Flustered and caught, he chanced a small wave at Dean with stuttered movements. As expected, Dean looked away and quickly made his way to the counter, but Castiel still smiled as walked away from the shop.

Dean.

The named echoed in his mind.

Chapter Text

"I saw a rubber band stretched 'til the point of breaking

White as a desert flower and dry as a pail of sand

Oh, you look so tired of something

That I don't understand"

Landon Pig - Look So Tired

"Dean, you need to wake up."

Dean peaked an eye open, catching the gaze of his oversized teddy bear of a brother looking down at him. Sam smiled, and Dean groaned, turning over in his bed and tossing a pillow at him. It was too early, dammit.

Sam scoffed, "Well, you shouldn't have went to bed so late. Star Trek wasn't that important."

He lifted his head to glare at his younger brother, earning a chuckle and a pillow to the face. With that, Sam left the room to his brother, closing the door behind him softly.

Dean threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched earning a few cracks and protesting muscles from his limbs, before getting up. After a long shower, Dean threw on a shirt and buttoned it up all the way to his neck and at his wrists, never once looking in the mirror. Once he had on some loose fitting jeans, he walked out of the bathroom and over to the kitchen where Sam stood setting up breakfast.

“I hope you’re fine with eggs and bacon. We’re out of pancake mix,” Sam stated as he placed a plate in Dean’s spot.

Dean grunted, taking his seat across from Sam’s spot at the island. Sam sat down with his plate and they began to eat. Sam started to talk about his upcoming classes, the case that they were getting to look at later on today, and the brunette girl in the front row with the beautiful face.Then, Sam shifted in his seat, taking a sip from his cup of orange juice and looking at Dean with big, hazel eyes.

He already knew where Sam was head.

“So...any nightmares last night?”

Dean poked at his bacon and shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t want to talk about this.

"Do you want me to set up an appointment for you with Doctor Shurley?"

Dean gave Sam a look and swallowed down his food.

"You haven't seen him in awhile and...I think-"

"Stop," Dean snapped. His throat tensed and closed up in protest. He rarely ever spoke.

Stunned to silence, Sam pursed his lips, setting his fork down, and picked up his plate to put it in the sink.

“I’m heading off. I’ll see you later on tonight.”

With one last look at Dean, kicked puppy look and all, he grabbed his jacket and bag and left. Dean rose his hands to his face and sighed. He hadn't meant to snap at the kid. Sam was....Sam was just too invasive for his own good. He could never tell his brother about his nightmares, or his past suffering, or

He hated Mondays.

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Dean hated Mondays. That was a proven fact. He found himself in a disgustingly bad mood on Mondays, often snapping at everyone within touching distance, slacking while working in the back room, and locking himself away in his room. That's actually the initial reason Benny started him on cleaning the tables on a Monday.

"You need the socializing, buddy. You'll get tired of just us eventually. Plus, your doctor said you needed a push," Benny told him kindly that day.

A push, my ass. His doctor didn't know jack squat about anything.

Dean huffed and continued to wipe down the table. He could hear Benny humming to the tune that filled the cafe while he replaced the pastries in the small window. He made a mental note to smash Benny's indie collection.

A few minutes later, the chimes above the coffee shop sounded. His shoulders tensed as his hands began to moisten. The blue eyed guy from last week walked through the door, glancing at Dean once before turning his entire body towards the counter. He wore his tan coat and a messenger bag that hung messily off of his shoulder. His shoulders were slumped forward and his fingers were fiddling with the strap of the bag. His hair was mussed and in desperate need of a haircut.

Dean swallowed around the small lump in his throat as he locked eyes with the stormy blue eyes. They were wide and curious, rimmed with red from the cold and complemented by pale skin. The man’s teeth were nibbling at his bottom lip, and Dean couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes. Interest?

If Dean could find a proper word to properly describe the man, it would be riveting.

Feeling his heart ram away in his chest, he quickly looked away and went back to work. his cheeks were flushed red and his hands were sweaty. He’d seen the man a few times in the shop the week before, always catching him staring at him with a slight tip of the head and a dazed look, but never took the time to really look at him. He was lean and small looking under the tan coat, but Dean knew better, having seen him in a button shirt and slacks a few days before. His hair was never tamed and always mussed up as if the wind had concentrated all its force on the man’s hair.

And the eyes.

No one could forget those eyes. They were wide and innocent, squinting occasionally in curiosity and turning different shades of blue depending on his emotion.
Okay, so maybe Dean did take the time to look at him, watch him, more so.
But that’s all Dean would do. He’d just look, he swore.

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His morning wasn't so bad, until 7 am came around. The wave of people that flooded the coffee shop became too much for Dean very quickly. The university girls that waited in the long line noticed him quickly and proceeded to stare him down with hooded eyes and gaping mouths. It made Dean very uncomfortable.

A few even went to touch him, trying to catch his attention, but they they weren't expecting the startling reaction. Dean pushede wandering hands away, staring at them with terror-filled eyes, and he may or may not have pushed a girl's hand away hard enough to knock the drink in her other hand to spill over.

He didn't like to be touched.

"A simple no would've been good enough," she hissed, storming back to the counter.

Dean needed air. He needed air now.

Waving Jo down, he motioned towards the door and waited for her to nod her head before he walked out of the door. On his way out, he quickly took his apron off and hooked it onto the coat rack. Once outside, he reached into his pocket and pulled a cigarette and lighter. He put the stick between his lips, holding it tensely as he lit the end, and took a slow drag.

Fucking Mondays.

Dean sighed and leaned against the side of the building, dully noting that his legs had lead him this far unknowingly. Mondays always meant something bad, something awful to him. His dad traded him off on a Monday.

Dean's hand shook at the thought. His own father, John Winchester, traded him off for a bottle of scotch to a man with a kind smile, but deadly intentions. A man with more knives.

"Dean?"

Benny stood a few paces away from him.

"Alright, brother?"

Dean looked around him, checking for any passersby and breathing in the icy air. He'd forgotten that it awas cold.

"Y-Yeah," his voice ground out like a shovel against concrete.

He bit his lip. He was very self-conscious about his voice and only ever said a few words here and there. His voice would never be the same. Benny reached up to clap him on the shoulder, but quickly remembered that Dean did not like to be touched. Dean tensed, widening his eyes at the broad man.

"C'mon. You could stay in the back room if you want," Benny reassured.

As they made their way to the door, blue eyes came through, hugging his messenger bag close.

"I will see you tomorrow," blue eyes muttered, rubbing at his drooping eyes and giving Benny a makeshift smile.

"Alright Castiel," Benny grinned, clapping Castiel on the shoulder, "take care, brother."

Dean watched blue eyes retreating figure, slouched and clumsy, and then gave Benny a questioning gaze.

"That's Castiel," Benny answered. "You've seen 'em around, he moved here a few months back."

Weird name.

That night, he thought of blue eyes, a tan coat.

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Tuesday, he quickly realized, would be no better.

At midnight, Dean was shaken awake by Sam from a very vivid nightmare, involving sharpened knives and excessive blood loss, that apparently woke the entire building. Sam's wide eyes were filled with concern, watching Dean's skin flush and his hand gripping Sam's. And of course Sam, being the freakishly large girl he was, slept next to him that night. Dean woke red and embarrassed hours later.

He was 22, for Christ sakes! A grown man, at that! Why did he need his 18 year old brother crawling into bed with him after his older brother's had a nightmare?

After calling Jo and getting ready, he drove them both to work. His hands shook as he drove, to which Jo suggested she take over the wheel and received a dark look from Dean that shut her up for the entire ride.

While he cleaned up the last table in the right corner, the chimes tinkled together and caused a lump in Dean's throat to form. The man, Castiel, walked through the door clumsily and shook the snow from his hair.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," the man began, his voice coming out like gravel and grates had been shoved down his throat, "but I thought Kansas did not receive snow during the winter."

"We don't. This here weather is getting outta' hand," Benny chuckled.

To this, Dean saw Castiel tilt his head and speak distantly, "It may be global warming."

"Probably. Do you want the scones today?"

"Yes, please. Thank you, Benny."

"It's quite alright," Benny chuckled, "Just go sit an' Jo'll bring them out to you."

Dean went back to wiping the already shining table and pretended to be busy.

"Er...excuse me."

Dean jumped slightly, whipping his head around and staring at Castiel through wide, anxious eyes.

"I'm sorry," Castiel stuttered out quickly, "I...I did not mean to startle you, it's just..this is where I usually sit."

Dean flushed and stepped to the side, breaking their eye contact and quickly making his way back behind the counter.

The back room was quiet and dark, just how Dean liked it. The lingering scent of coffee beans filled his nose, and Dean found himself relaxing and slipping into an old stool. He sighed, letting his head rest in his hands. He'd been running low on anxiety medicine, but refused to go back to Doctor Shurley. Doctor Shurley wasn't bad at all, but he promised that the next time he visited they would try something new.

Plus, the fact that Dean had a girly little crush on Castiel was an understatement.

When he felt his hands become steady, he walked back out of the back room, where Benny thrust a canister and pen pad into his hand.

"You're starting on tables today."

With wide eyes, he shook his head desperately at Benny, pleading silently for him to change his mind. He wasn't ready for serving the customers.

"I'm sorry, brother, but I've gotta."

Sighing heavily and giving up the fight in him, Dean went and filled the canister with fresh coffee and started on the new task that was sure to fail.

Serving didn't go too badly, at first. The few customers that were there knew that Dean was a man of few words and didn't ask him any questions outside of yes and no responses.
As he refilled a customer's cup, he let his eyes wander over to Castiel's booth. He sat with hunched shoulders and a book in hand, his laptop left untouched next to two scones.

"Dammit! You fucking idiot!"

Dean jumped back, the hot coffee from the canister spilling out and splashing his pants and also hitting the floor. Dazed and terrified, Dean stood like a cat under a street light. His knees locked and his eyes were trained tensely on the short haired woman. She stared tersely at him with both arms raised over the table, and it was there that Dean finally saw what happened. He'd let the cup overflow and spill over onto the table and the woman's skirt. His hands automatically flew to rag draping off of his side.

"This is just great," her voice was muffled.

Everything was muffled. He wiggled a finger in his ear, checking his hearing, and looked up to the woman. The woman was gone, and so was the cafe. He was met with a sneer and beady eyed gaze that could only belong to one person: Alastair.

He was back in the cellar, arms chained to the small loop in the wall and shaking from the cold. Dean was naked and the only light in the room was the small desk light in the corner. The entire bottom half of his body ached and begged for movement.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," a nasally drawl came from his right, and his head snapped to the spot where Alastair stood.

A leering smile stretched across his shiny face, a knife twirling in his hand as he paced slowly in front of a shaking Dean. Alastair chuckled loudly, leaning towards Dean's sweating body and laying a hand over his abdomen.

"Mmm, I'm going to have fun with you today."

A small pinch in his chest made him yelp and push himself back into the concrete wall.

"Dean," another muffled voice, "Dean, can you hear me?"

Dean's breaths came out ragged and constricted, his throat tight with a scream that wouldn't come out and eyes welling up with fresh tears.

"Dean, I need you to look at me. Look me in my eyes."

Dean looked into the icy grey eyes that watched him with a dark interest. He turned his head again and pulled his eyes shut tight.

"No, Dean I need you to look at me. Wherever you are, it is not real."

Soft hands rested on Deans arms and he knew immediately that they did not belong to Alastair.

He looked to the arms, pale and slender, and slowly back to the eyes that were now a warm, stormy blue.

He blinked again.

"I need you to take deep breaths with me, okay?" Castiel's rumbling voice soothe him.

Dean breathed deeply. Jo and Benny's worried faces peaked into view, but all of his attention was on Castiel. Up close, his eyes weren't purely blue. They were bright azure that dominated the dull greens and greys. He had laugh lines and small wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and a freckle on the tip of his nose. Castiel removed his hands slowly and cautiously.

"Try and concentrate on something or someone that makes you happy. What's your fondest memory?"

His mind immediately drifted to last year. It was before he and Sam moved out of their mom's place and across town to a big apartment. They were packing the last of their things when Mary came in with a wide smile and a pair of scissors.

"Sam, at least let me cut your hair," she beamed, approaching the lanky teen.

He'd never seen Sam run so fast, or Mary look so happy. That was his fondest memory.

"Are you with me now, Dean?"

Dazed, he shook his head yes and swallowed the thickness in his throat. Sweat trickled down his forehead and he wiped at it clumsily.

It'd been awhile since he’d last had a flashback.

"Are you alright?" Castiel questioned earnestly.

And, without a second thought, Dean scrambled to his feet and bolted for the front door. He ran home.

Chapter Text

"In the morning when I wake

And the sun is coming through,

Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,

And you fill my head with you.

Shall I write it in a letter?

Shall I try to get it down?

Oh, you fill my head with pieces

Of a song I can't get out."

The Paper Kites - Bloom

Castiel was what you called a thinker. He thought about everything; what he'd eat in the morning, what kind of socks he would wear, what kind of day it would be. He'd never really thought about a lot of people. He wasn't romantic, either. The only person he'd ever been deeply, romantically involved with was Meg Masters from his sophomore year. She had strawberry blonde hair that used to be brown and a smirk as wicked as they came. He was hooked on her and she had a soft spot for him. In the end, they worked better as friends and, to this day, still call each other to see how the other is doing.

After her, every other person he'd been with was either a lonely one night stand or a failed attempt at dating. He never gave those people a second chance.

But Castiel thought about Dean. He thought about him every day since the day he first saw him wiping the table down in Icarus Cafe. He thought about his green eyes and how wide they got whenever someone spoke to him. He thought about his long, bow legs and the muscles in his arms contracted under his tight, longsleeved shirts. The contours of his jaw and freckles that sprinkled across his nose were his favorite. Castiel also thought about what a kind man he probably was, having seen him cheer up a small girl, who'd been woken up and dragged to the coffee shop by her exasperated father, with a cookie and half of a smile. That was closest he'd ever seen Dean to smiling.

Castiel was infatuated.

He was absolutely enamoured by the green eyed man.

He liked Dean.

And this was the reason why Castiel found himself splayed out on his bed petting his dog, Midnight, and calling Balthazar at 1am on Wednesday.

"This better be you announcing your pregnancy," he yawned through the receiver.

"It is impossible for a male to produce children."

"Cassie, you kill me. How are classes going?"

"They've proven to be time consuming. I have written papers longer than my own book."

"How is that coming along, by the way?"

"My mind is congested and unable to, uh, express."

"Is it because it's daydreaming about a certain green eyed man?"

"This is serious," he groaned, moving his hand up to his face.

"Is it about Dean? The man from the cafe? The one you'd like to ravish on the freshly mopped floor?"

Castiel sighed. He shouldn't have called. However, aside from Anna and Meg, Balthazar was the only one he could really talk to about this.

"Sorry," Balthazar laughed, as if sensing the other man's annoyance, "what's the issue?"

He retold the events, starting with a small recap of last week's events and leading into Tuesday's. His cousin remained silent on the other line and listened with a careful ear due to Castiel's tired, gravely voice.

"...and I am not sure of what to do next."

"Cousin, however you go about this, do it all with an open mind. His backstory is...horrific, for lack of a better word."

"His past? Balthazar, how do you know about-"

"I only know bits and pieces," Balthazar said softly, sounding sad through the phone, "Trust me, Cassie, it's not something you want to know yet."

"Can you tell me?"

"It's not my place to tell."

Castiel huffed. He knew not to be intrusive. He couldn't help it though.

"Oh, don't pout."

He rolled his eyes and looked at Midnight. She barked and licked his hand.

"Or roll your eyes. Now, as much as I love these deep conversations at the dead of night, I have a class to teach in the morning."

"Good night, Balth," Castiel muttered before he hung up.

While he showered, he thought of his Tuesday morning in the cafe, how he spent his last few minutes of his time before class attempting to coax Dean out of what looked like an anxiety attack of some sorts. He remembered the bright green eyes, how tortured and watery they looked, and how Dean's skin became so rigid and cold with fear. What could frighten a man that appeared so fearsome himself was beyond him.

And Castiel decided, as he wrapped himself up in his blanket and closed his eyes, that he would leave Dean alone.

He'd get over it, he lied to himself.

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Castiel's classes weren't so bad. He enjoyed them most of the time, however, this week was proving to be more challenging than the last. He'd been assigned two papers and a research project for his finals, and with Christmas in two weeks, Castiel became aware of his rising stress levels and anxiety.

Christmas made him sad. Before he left home, Christmas was spent around an extravagant tree and decorations and family he thought loved him dearly. Gabriel always made his too-sugary gingerbread cookies, Anna played her cheesy Christmas music, and Micheal and Lucius took time out of their busy schedules to stay home for the holidays. Their cousins, Balthazar's parents and siblings would come and visit and that was always the most unpleasant part. Uncle Zacariah would try and get Castiel to major in business while Aunt Rachel would stare at him tersely from across the table and scold him for every word that came out of his mouth. And Rapheal, Balthazar's cousin, would constantly bully Castiel into either being quiet for the night or going up to his room. His mother never had time for Christmas.
He could count on one hand the number of times his mother stayed home for Christmas.

This year, the most Castiel would probably get out of Christmas was a call from Meg, Anna, and Balthazar.

Anyway, with his lack of knowledge on how to work the 'top of the line' coffee maker that Anna gave him as a gift, Castiel was running on four hours of sleep and crappy energy bars. After three days of avoiding the cafe, he finally returned Monday morning of the next week, eyes circled with purple bags, nose and cheeks red from the cold, and shoulders slumping with the weight of two textbooks in his hands. His messenger bag was hanging off of his arm pathetically.

"You look terrible," Benny observed, looking the smaller man over with a small smile.

"Finals will be the death of me," he mumbled, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"I'll have Jo bring your coffee to your table. The usual?"

Castiel shook his head, "with an extra shot of espresso, if that is alright."

He went to shuffle through his bag when he saw Benny's hand reach over the counter to tap his shoulder. Benny wore a warm smile when he looked up.

"It's on the house. Our way of saying thank you for last week."

All Castiel could manage was a nod before he shuffled away from the counter and to his booth. Dean was no where to be seen, not that Castiel noticed.

Okay, so maybe he did.

He had the entire week to himself to study without classes or lectures due to finals the upcoming week, so he pulled his things out and got to work with Lana Del Ray's drawl filling his ears.

By the time his coffee arrived, Castiel's table looked as if a tornado hit full blast. Flash cards were scattered along the entire table, both books were open to different pages, his laptop sat in the corner with a dull screen, and there he sat with his notebook flipped open and his eyes scanning the pages rapidly.

Jo stood there for much longer than she usually did, he noted. To his surprise, it wasn't Jo who was standing with his coffee.

It was Dean.

Dean was standing there with his coffee.

With wide eyes staring at him.

Dean was staring at him.

Castiel's eyebrows must have shot up to the ceiling because goodness did his face ache.

Dean's green eyes never left Castiel, and he placed the plate of scones and his mug of coffee on the table after making room.

Then he sat down. And he hesitantly grabbed a pen and paper from Castiel's mess and started writing. Today, he wore a turtleneck sweater and tight fitting jeans with mussed up hair and a scruffy jaw.

Goodness.

After a few seconds of staring at the paper, Dean handed the notebook back to Castiel with a nervous twitch of his eyebrows and got up. He was gone before Castiel could read it.

Thank you for last Tuesday. Sorry you had to see that. - Dean

Castiel hadn't even noticed the morning rush come and go, or that the time was now 11 am. He just couldn't stop himself from tracing the curve of Dean's handwriting with his eyes.

Then he smiled.

------------------------------------------------

The next day, Castiel woke up with a stuffy nose, a pale face, a nasty cough, and a very cold room. The window he left open last night remained open on the other side of the room, the cold air blowing the curtains out forward. Midnight whined at Castiel's feet as he dragged himself from bed and to his bathroom. He looked disgusting, he thought displeasing when he saw himself in the mirror. His hair pointed in different directions, looking even more unmanageable than it usually did. A shower, he hoped, would at least help his sickly appearance.

Once he finished, he put Midnight on a leash and walked out of his apartment, deciding to take the elevator rather than the stairs. He knocked twice and looked towards Midnight, who sat on her hind legs and whined at Castiel. Excitedly, the door flew open and Castiel was met with a toothy smile.

"Heya, Casti- woah," the girl deflated, "You look like you just puked up insides and saw your mother naked."

Obviously, the shower did not help.

Charlie, a girl who lived downstairs from Castiel in B5, stood in the doorway of her apartment with her arms crossed and a look of concern. With bright red hair and a vibrant personality, she reminded Castiel of his sister, Anna. He found it easy to befriend her, although he couldn't be sure if she was genuinely his friend or if she was just a friendly person.

"I left my window open last night," he croaked, clearing his throat and thrusting the handle of the leash forward.

"Finals week is the worst time to get sick," Charlie mumbled thoughtfully, "I can watch Midnight into tomorrow, if you want?"

"Thank you," he mumbled solemnly. "However, I don't really think it'll be neccassary."

"Okay, but at least stay inside for the day."

"I need to study," he half lied.

"You're very stubborn, y'know?"

Castiel's lip quirked, "yes, I've been told many times. I will see you later, Charlie."
With one last pat to the bloodhound, Castiel retreated to the elevator.

 

Castiel walked into the coffee shop bundled up for head to toe in layers of clothes, and he still felt chill in his bones. His skin felt clammy and stuck to the fabric of his hat.

"Woah, brother, are you alright?" Benny questioned once he was stood in front of the counter.

"I left my window open last night," he mumbled, clearing his throat.

"Maybe you should be back home then."

Castiel sighed, "They pay me at the university to tutor during important weeks, finals week for example. I tutor the rest of this week."

Benny hummed in acknowledgement, "Well, go ahead and sit. Your stuff'll be right over."

He dragged his feet over to the booth in the back, sliding in and pulling his books and flash cards out from his messenger bag. He peeled his trench coat from his body and placed his hat, gloves, and scarf to the side before he began his studying. Only a few minutes in did he feel a presence and turn his head.

Dean, clad in tan cargo pants with an apron around his waist and a soft looking gray sweater with a button up shirt poking out, stood next to his table, a mug in one hand and a plate with scones in the other. His green eyes scanned over Castiel briefly before a disapproving frown tugged at the corners of his lip.

"Hello," Castiel tried, his voice breaking and aching with just one word.

And Dean sat across from him, sliding Castiel's pen and paper towards himself and writing. Then, he slid it over for Castiel to see.

You look terrible. You should be resting.

"I uh...I have," cough, "left my window open."

Dean took it back and scribbled quickly, Do you have a cat or something?

"No. The building manager turned the heat up too high and it was hot."

Dean stood abruptly and left Castiel with the notepad. When he came back minutes later, held a styrofoam cup with the end of a tea bag poking out at the top and placed it on then table.

"Thank you," Castiel stammered out, "you didn't have to."

To this, the taller man shrugged with a small tug at one corner of his mouth and turned away from Castiel.

His heart skidded in his chest a few times and he took a generous gulp of the tea.

Green tea was his favorite.

Chapter Text

Sleep don't visit, so I choke on sun
And the days blur into one
And the backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done
Sheets are swaying from an old clothesline
Like a row of captured ghosts over old dead grass
Was never much but we made the most
Radical Face - Welcome Home

 

When Dean turned 12 years old, his parents, John and Mary, filed for divorce. With the arguments that they thought the boys wouldn't hear and the nights that John disappeared, sometimes coming home days later did not go unnoticed. Maybe Sam shrugged it off, but Dean noticed, and he dreaded the oncoming split. Dean, however, did not like seeing his mother so worn out and stressed, with tears always streaming down her face when she thought the boys were in their rooms, so he accepted it. Naturally, Sam went and lived with Mary and Dean went with John, only to make sure his father didn't drink himself into a coma.

It wasn't until much later did Dean find out the truth.

That John'd cheated on Mary multiple times.

And became a semi-abusive drunk.

And got one of the many woman pregnant.

Once the divorce was finalized and Dean was 13, John traded him off for a bottle of scotch a month later.

And Dean hated to think about it. The memories that laced around and constricted his dreams and his throat with terror haunted him every time he closed his eyes were enough to drive him mad. However, the thought of Sam, lanky and bitchy, and his mother, all smiles and apple pie, usually kept his panic attacks and flashbacks at bay.

With shaking hands, Dean splashed water at his face in hopes of halting his awful train of thought. His collar felt tight around his neck, the feeling that rose in his chest seemed all too familiar, and dammit, he couldn't have a panic attack in the middle of dinner with his mother. The window he opened let in a cool breeze and warmed his hot skin.

Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and he let his body sink to the cold tiled ground.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

He searched his head for something relaxing, but he could come up with was the feeling of smooth, slender hands on his arms, long fingers working circles into his hot skin. Azure eyes followed, and Castiel's face seemed to dominate his thoughts. Dean could feel his bones relax, finding comfort in the other man's appearance, and even thought of the gravelly rumble of his voice.

The thought of Castiel was relaxing, sleepy almost.

"Dean, honey, are you alright in there?" His mother's voice came from the other side of the door.

Startled out of his reverie, he stood quickly and shook his head yes before he realized that there was no way for her to know. Pulling the door open, he met the soft baby blues of his mother's eyes. She stood with her hand where the knob had been, a worried frown tugging at the corners of her lips and eyebrows furrowed. Mary's face softened and she reached a hand and placed it on his shoulder carefully, knowing of Dean's unwillingness to touch.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered with a small smile.

To this, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and gave his face a small tap, a smile stretching across her face and wrinkling at the corners of her eyes, much like Dean's used to.

"C'mon. Sammy was just about to tell us about that Sarah girl in his class."
Dean ruffles Sam's long hair as he enters the room, earning a distressed groan and bitchface #72. Mary smiles fondly at the two and urges Sam to start up again.

And as Sam talks about Sarah, all flustered and love sick looking, Dean can't help but think of how flustered he would probably get if he were talking about someone in that same way.
If he talked much. Dean let his shoulders slump. That always seemed to be the issue.
As they get ready to go, Mary pulls Dean into a warm hug and rests her chin on his shoulder, and he only tenses up for a moment.

"Sam told me that you haven't seen Doctor Shurley since October. Is that true?"

His brother dodged the glare he was giving him but ducking out the door with a kiss to Mary's cheek. Dean sighed, shaking his head affirmatively and keeping his eyes low.

"Oh, Dean," she muttered and pulled back, holding him at arms length, "Sam's worried about you and so am I. We just..we want you to be okay and happy."

A sinking feeling made his chest feel heavy, as if it were caving in, and he swallowed back against the lump in his throat. He wanted to be happy, too.

"Promise me you'll see Doctor Shurley this week? And if you don't want to stick with him any longer, than we'll find you a new shrink."

Hesitantly, Dean nodded his head and gave his mother one last hug.

"I love you, Mom," he murmured firmly, placing a kiss to her cheek.

"I love you, too," she said through a watery smile, sending Dean on his way out of the door.

Once Dean got into the Impala, he rested his head against the steering wheel for a minute. His mind felt jumbled, and his heart quickened in his chest, and it began to feel harder to breath, as if he were breathing through a straw.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked a few times, taking a few steadying breaths, and sat up in the drivers seat with a sigh. He looked over at Sam, who's faced screamed 'I'm about to have a chick flick moment and you can't stop me, dickbag.'

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to corner you or anything."

Here we go, Dean thought.

"I'm just a bit worried, y'know? You haven't been seeing the therapist a-and you're locked up in your room more than usual and..." Sam trailed off.

Dean looked over at Sam to find him hastily wiping away a single tear away and looking towards the window.

"I just want you to be okay," Sam said brokenly.

Dean's shoulder slumped forward. The feeling of guilt curled around his heart and tugged forcefully, and Dean had to blink a few times to keep his tears from forming and falling.

He'd been selfish. His problems didn't only effect him, and Dean needed to remember that.

"Sammy," he said clearly, earning a watery look from the lanky teen.

Hesitantly, he reached across his seat and pulled Sam into the first hug he'd given him in years, Mary being the only one that could touch him. Sam wrapped surprised arms around Dean and hugged back. A few moments later, Dean retracted himself and gave Sam an earnest look.
"I'm trying."
Then, flushed red and with shaking hands, Dean started the car and turn the knob full blast on the radio.

Today had been the most that Dean spoke in a very long time.

--

The morning sun streamed in through his slightly open window, casting it's rays on Dean's face and waking him up slowly. He liked this. He liked being woken up by the sun and feeling its warm rays against his skin.

There was a time when even seeing the sun through a window was a privilege. He cherished it.

And he liked being able to wake Sam up in the morning with a bucket of water.

He pulled himself out of bed, quickly brushing his teeth and getting dressed, and went to the kitchen. Breakfast seemed like a good start.

About twenty minutes later, Sam emerged from his room, groggy and dragging his feet under his long pajamas, and stopped in the doorway of the kitchen.

"You can cook?" Sam questioned sarcastically.

A loaf of bread hit the tall teen in the head and a grumble sounded from behind Dean.

"Scrambled eggs?"

Dean hummed affirmatively and placed the eggs on the plate, sliding it across to Sam and turning to the stove to make his own plate. After he'd finished, he sat himself down across from his brother and rummaged through his pocket for something.

A phone was then placed on the table.

Seeming confused, Sam looked to Dean who gave him a hard look and went back to his eggs.

Dean hoped Sam understood.

A few minutes later, he heard Sam's voice responding to a feminine voice.

"Hello, Serena, is Doctor Shurley available?"

He set his plate in the sink and looked at the clock. 6:30 am. He needed to get going. On cue, Sam walked in behind him, handing Dean his phone and pushing his hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms.

"You have an appointment on Wednesday afternoon. And Jo texted you."

Dean grabbed his leather jacket, waved to Sam, and headed out of the door.

Jo (6:31 AM): Hey lardass. Don't have to pick me up. I'll be in later. Don't let Benny's clumsy ass serve unless you want to mop up extra.

Dean smiled fondly at the text. Jo, aside from being his very best friend and sort of sister since they could walk, seemed to be one of the few who knew their limits, yet didn't treat him like a charity case. She never punched like she used to when she teased him, but somehow managed to have the same effect.

If only everyone were the same, he grumbled self consciously.

--

When Dean entered Icarus Cafe, he had to step back out into the cold and smack himself a bit to convince himself that he was not dreaming. Benny stood behind the counter, flushed red and adorn with what Dean could only guess was cat scratches and mud...maybe.

Dean's eyebrows went up.

"Ah.. It's a long story," Benny sighed, "will you be okay manning the register for a few minutes?"

His jaw clenched, however, Dean gave him a curt nod and made his way to the other side of the counter. He'd never been a fan of interacting with customers. Taking orders alone made him nervous and sweaty, and he almost always ended up taking an hour long break in the back room to calm his frantically heart. But Benny only said a few minutes, right? He'd be out before any major crowds trampled through the door. Dean relaxed a bit at the thought.

This wouldn't be so bad.

The bell to the coffee shop chimed above the door, and Dean's shoulders tensed.

He really hated bells.

Castiel, in all of his slumping and clumsy glory, stumbled into the coffee shop with a sheepish glance and cheeks flushed pink. He cut his hair, Dean noticed, and he was no longer wearing the tan trench coat. Today, Castiel had a thick pea coat hugging his body, hands pushed into is his pockets and buttons latched up to the base of his neck. The bags that usually lay under his eyes were gone and a small smile peaked from above his scarf. Dean's heart warmed at the sight, and he couldn't help the small tug his lips gave when Castiel looked at him.

"Hello, Dean," he rumbled shyly as he removed the gloves from his fingers.

Scribbling quickly along the order book that lay on the counter, Dean slid the message over for Castiel to see.

Hey, Cas. You look well rested. What would you like?

"Cas?" Castiel tilted his head.

Sorry. Bad habit of nicknaming people.

"I much prefer the nickname Cas over Cassie any day." Castiel smiled wider. "The final exams are over. Yesterday was the last day and today we start break. I cut my hair as a small celebration."

You were starting to look like Ash.

To answer Castiel's questioning look, he pointed backwards towards the picture of the mullet wearing, happy hippie that smiled in the framed glass on the wall, earning a soft chuckle from Castiel.

"That is a bit of an exaggeration, but I see your point. I will have medium coffee with cream and sugar and two of the blueberry scones on display."

When Dean turned to brew the coffee, Benny stood with his arms crossed over a chest in a shirt one size too small, a smirk creeping up his face and his eyebrows shot up across his forehead.

"Blue eyes, huh? You like 'em, dontcha?"

Dean scoffed and pushed past him.

Once the order was put together, Dean tied the apron around his waist and took the mug and plate out to him. Castiel sat at the edge of the booth with his jacket folded neatly next to him and a laptop perched on the table, fingers perched over the keyboard and eyes on Dean. He wore a button up shirt tucked into black slacks and a tie. He placed the mug and plate next to his hands.
All dressed up with nowhere to go? Dean scribbled this quickly on a notepad and placed the mug and plate next to his hands.

"Anna is visiting for a few days and I will be picking her up after this."

Girlfriend?

Castiel visibly cringed, " Sister. I am gay."

Dean eyebrows shot up in surprised and Castiel's stormy eyes widen to the size of saucers. He stuttered and stammered and ran his hand through his already messy hair until Dean began to chuckle a full body kind of chuckle that surprised Dean himself. Quickly, he scribbled out a response, flushing red and clearing his throat.

You're fine. Enjoy your coffee.

So he may or may not have sort of, kind of, maybe a lot but not so much, undoubtedly liked Castiel.

So what?

--

Dean stood, rigid and alone, in front of a cherry wood door that held a small plaque; Dr. Charles Shurley, L.P.C. With a racing heart and a lump in his throat, he unskillfully turned the knob on the door and peaked his head in.

"Ah, Dean," smiled a short man with graying hair standing near a window. "Come on in."

Hesitantly, he took a step in and shut the door behind him.

 

Chuck, a short man with graying hair and a reassuring smile, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and beckoned him to close the door. Dean entered the room and the shut the door behind him, then he made his way towards the couch and sat heavily.

"Hello, Dean. It's been awhile," he greeted, "how are you?"

He shrugged his shoulders, sinking low into the cushions, and sighed. This was a bad idea.

But he told Sam he'd try.

"We can discuss anything you'd like," Chuck said solemnly a

Dean ran a hand over his face and nodded his head, rejecting the notebook that was offered.

"I..." Dean cleared his throat, anxiously tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Chapter Text

Summary: Anna comes to visit, Balthazar crashes the party, Christmas is lonely, and Castiel has a past, too.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

See I've forgotten if

They're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is

What I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Ellie Goulding - Your Song

"Castiel!"

Following the gleeful yell, a red headed woman quickly threw herself into Castiel's arms, almost knocking him over and onto the floor. Surprised, he wasn't sure of what to do with his hands until he caught his breath.

Anna came.

A surprised chuckle escaped his mouth, and he finally hugged back, running his fingers through his younger sister's fiery hair. It grew a lot more from the last time he saw, he noticed, and her wood green eyes were bright when they finally appeared in front of him.

"My God, I missed you," she laughed, holding him at arm’s length. "It's been two years!"

"I, you, as well. How have you been? Let me get a good look at you."

Anna grew a few inches taller from the last time he saw her, but he still towered over her. Her long and wavy hairy reached the middle of her back and her forest green eyes were much brighter, now crinkling and wrinkling with her wide smile. She looked leaner, growing and filling out her clothes more and standing straighter.

"College is tough, but great. My roommate is a creep..."

Castiel took her bags as she rambled on, only taking a minute to coax the bigger suitcase out of her stubborn hand. He directed her outside and towards the garage, leading her to the small, red car on level A.

"You still have this thing," the red head stated, letting her eyebrows furrowed in distaste for the 1972 Toyota Corolla.

He unlocked the doors, "I did not buy it for style."

"Obviously."

The drive home felt old and familiar, the radio was turned to a station that Castiel never bothered with and playing a song that he'd never heard of, Anna was in the driver's seat rambling on about her second year of college and how tiring being an art major could be, and the heater wasn't giving any trouble for once.

And Castiel hadn't felt this happy in a while.

Well, except for when he spoke to Dean.

Dinner was filled with both Castiel and Anna's laughs, a movie playing in the background and their takeout plates left discarded on the floor. He learned of two tattoos that she'd gotten in her first year and the endless amount of boys attempting to “get in her pants”. He frowned at this, and Anna only laughed.

"So," she began and placed her soda on the floor, "is there anyone new that I should be hearing about?"

"Ah.."

"What's his name?"

"Why do you assume this person is male and not female?"

Anna scoffed, "Because you haven't gone in that direction since Meg Masters. How is she, by the way?"

"She is still very upset with you for adding pink instead of red to her hair," Castiel muttered, amused and feeling a bit silly as he played with his straw.

"Oh, come one now, Castiel. Please?"

"All that I will tell you is that he is quiet," he rose from his seat next to her. "Goodnight, Anna."

He planted a kiss to her temple, earning a playful punch to the arm and a scoff, and walked to his room. He stopped briefly to lay extra folded blankets onto Anna's room and checked the heater before he entered his room and got ready for bed.

--

When Castiel started applying for colleges in his senior year, the first thing Anna, 16 years old and silently rebellious, told him stuck with him to this day.

"You leave this house, and you don't look back, okay? You'll thank me later."

And he almost choked on the orange slice in his mouth.

"Honestly," she spoke as if Castiel were the younger sibling, "do you think he's worried about what Mother or what Uncle Zach thinks? He's probably somewhere living in the east coast right now, living his life and eating all of the sugary goodness he could fit in his stomach. You should do the same."

"What about-"

Anna looked around before she spoke, "Everyone besides you, me, and Gabe will follow Mother's 'idealistic' plans and beliefs no matter what we say or do. Michael is the 'man of the family' and has been since Father left, and Lucias will do anything to make Mother happy. Uriel and-," she sighed, "just face it Castiel, our siblings are just as bad as the rest of the family, and the only way to avoid living that 'ideal' lifestyle is to leave."

Astounded and nervous, Castiel stared down at the pamphlets for Stanford and Harvard in his hands. His uncle had handed them to him with a look that held contempt and false affection.

"What about you?"

Anna smiled sadly and pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his neck.

"I'll write and call, and I'll eventually get out of here. I'll be fine."

And the next day, Castiel began his discrete research on schools hundreds of miles from Palo Alto, California. Before New Year’s had a chance to come around, Castiel left home, without a trace and never looking back.

He hadn't seen his family since, aside from Anna and Balthazar.

Castiel, to this day, did not regret his decision, no matter how difficult it's results proved to be.

"Cassie, where's your coffee powder?"

He was, however, beginning to think that letting Anna, who was overwhelmingly hyper in the morning, stay with him for her visit wasn't going to be as easy or peaceful as he had assumed.

Castiel groaned from under his blanket and kicked his foot out as a signal. Anna, who stood in his room in a paint stained shirt, pulled the covers from Castiel's half asleep form and clambered onto the queen sized bed.

She jumped.

"Anna, please," he protested groggily, gripping a pillow and covering his head with it.

She jumped again.

"Wake up! I want coffee and I can't find the coffee powder."

And again.

"I will take you to the cafe."

"Okay, take me now."

"I am sleeping."

And again.

"Please?"

"Anna-"

"Thanks!"

When he pulled the pillow from his face to glare at Anna, he only caught the flare of her red hair. Ungracefully and still clouded by sleep, Castiel pulled himself from his bed and stretched, dragging himself to the bathroom and completely disregarding the new set of luggage that sat in the living room.

As he brushed his teeth, it suddenly dawned on him that he put Anna's bags away in the extra room and her bags were purple. These bags were green and a big 'B' was sewn into its front pockets.

Slowly stepping out into the halfway, toothbrush hanging from his mouth and eyes wide, he met the cool baby blues of his smiling, blonde cousin.

"Balthazar?"

"Surprised?" Balthazar bounced on the heels of his feet and enclasped Castiel in an endearingly tight hug.

Castiel felt happy to see him, he really did, but anyone sane would know that putting Balthazar and Anna in the same apartment as each other meant three things for Castiel: a week long headache, definite chaos, and a possible trip to the psychiatric ward.

Awkward and puzzled, he wondered, "Balthazar, what are you doing here?"

"Cassie, dear," Balthazar drawled, his accent sounding lighter and faded, "did you really think I would leave you all alone for the holiday season?"

Castiel smiled sheepishly, and hugged his cousin back, earning a delighted look from Anna as Balthazar grinned when he pulled away.

"Also, Anna is here. How could I ever pass up an opportunity to be with my partner in crime when she's so close?"

His sister smiled mischievously at Balthazar and high fived him. Castiel groaned inwardly and lifted a hand, running it over his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, don't act like you're not happy to see me," Balthazar chirped as he gathered Castiel into his arms and squeezed tightly, then turning his attention to Anna, "Just the other day, he was gossiping to me about how nice of an ass Dean has."

"Dean?" Anna questioned and Balthazar lifted his eyebrows at his cousin.

"No," Castiel pleaded tiredly.

"Who's Dean?"

"Why, Castiel," Balthazar exclaimed with a grin almost as wicked as Meg's, "you mean you haven't told Anna about the green eyed walking sex? The very man who causes your blue balls? The man-

"Balthazar, please-"

"-who you wish would grab you," Balthazar continued dramatically, grabbing a hold of a weary Castiel, "and take you," and embracing him, "right on one of the freshly cleaned tables of Icarus Cafe?"

Anna's eyes brightened and she bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet, and Castiel knew that there was no hope for him now.

"Let's go to Icarus Cafe" the red head chirped, grabbing Castiel's keys from the hook.

"I heard Devil's Hot Coffee Cafe provides substantial coffee," Castiel weakly protested, but Anna was already out of the door.

He looked to Balthazar with wide, murderous eyes and a grimace that he bet would beat Jo's in a contest.

"Whoops," Balthazar shrugged, skipping gleefully out of the apartment door.

Those two would be the death of him, he thought as he called Midnight.

--

After taking Midnight down to Charlie, who Anna enthusiastically greeted and Balthazar attempted to flirt with ("Sorry, dude, I ride the same boat you do." "Which one?"), they walked out of the building and in the direction of cafe.

"So what is he like?"

"Quiet," Castiel responded distantly, kicking a chunk of snow in front of him as he walked.

"He looks like something out of Esquire magazine," Balthazar exclaimed excitedly. "He's got a frustratingly delicious face and his eyes will make you piss yourself."

"Is he that hot?"

"Hot? Anna, he's beautiful. His presence will cause internal friction. You will have an erection and you don't even have a we-"

"That's enough, Balthazar," Castiel interrupted, blushing profusely and keeping his eyes on his feet.

"And Castiel fancies him."

He sighed inwardly, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Does he feel the same?"

"I am not sure," Castiel mumbled.

Anna was silent when she looked Castiel over. Shyly, he peaked up at the paler girl to see her smiling softly.

"It is complicated," he continued as they came to a stop in front of the shop. Today, small Christmas lights adorned the door and windows, and a small tree stood on either ends of the large window.

Balthazar pulled the door open and held it for them. Inside, Dean stood near the counter, mopping up what looked to be a coffee spill. As the bells above the door chimed, he watched Dean tense up, gripping the mop a bit tighter in his hand, and take a small step back with startled eyes. Lucky for him, Anna was too distracted by Balthazar's conversation to really notice the green eyed man. The blonde only met his eyes momentarily before he flashed a small smile and lead the girl to the booth in the very back.

He would thank Balthazar later, he thought.

When Castiel finally turned to Dean, he smiled helplessly and lifted his shoulders. Dean, who relaxed and put the mop against the wall, took out his note pad and scribbled quickly.

Sister? I already know Balthazar.

"Yes. Her name is Anna and she is too...er...enthusiastic for me to handle sometimes."

The freckled man chuckled and handed Castiel his next note. My brother is the same way, the little bitch.

Shocked, Castiel looked up to Dean, who was quickly scribbling.

And I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. He's smart as shit and I love the snot nosed kid.

Castiel warmed at this, "It's the same way I feel about Anna and Balthazar."

"Cassie, darling," he suddenly heard Balthazar's voice and turned to the blonde wearing a small smile with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Can we maybe have breakfast while we're here? Anna is awfully hungry," Anna giggled quietly at this, "and the long journey here has given me a large appetite."

Mildly irritated, he looked to Dean wearily and asked, "is there breakfast served here?"

And Dean shook his head yes, looking amused and fighting a small grin, and replaced the written piece of paper with a fresh one, pushing the crinkled one into his pocket instead of tossing it in the trash.

"Scrambled eggs and bacon for me," Balthazar exclaimed, "And oatmeal for Anna. Oh! And two coffees with cream."

He turned to repeat the order, but found Dean already writing it down, only lifting his eyes to Castiel in question.

"I will...I will have the usual. Coffee with cream and the scones."

With a nod, Dean made his way around to the other side of the counter while Castiel made his way over to his assumed seat.

"My gosh, Cassie, he's yummy," the blonde marveled, fanning himself exaggeratingly.

"He looks so sweet," Anna cooed, "but he looks like he could probably fuck you hard into a mattress."

"Dear God," he groaned miserably and rested his head in his hands.

However, that did not stop the image of Dean from entering his mind, his long fingers dragging over the zipper of his pants and working them down. He could only imagine the look of lust in Dean's eyes, and the curve of his body as he leaned over Castiel, and the phantom feel of wandering hands and kisses and licks and-

"Cassie, dear, you’re drooling."

He quickly wiped his mouth as Dean approached with their food and stared straight down at the table with a furious blush while Anna and Balthazar both fought the giggles that shook their bodies. Dean stood confused, only looking to Castiel curiously before he drifted back over to the counter.

"Daydreaming, are we, Castiel?"

--

The days that followed flew quickly, consisting of breakfast at the cafe, afternoon escapades in the city over, movie nights that were filled with more gossip than Castiel had ever endured. In that time span, he found out about Anna's boyfriend asking her to move in and Balthazar getting frisky with one of the teachers at the high school where he taught. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be with both Anna and Balthazar, to have sleepovers and adventurous days like they used to, and he did not want that to end. He loathed the day, December 22th, so very deeply, and in Castiel's opinion, it came too quickly and was set on raining on his happiness. Balthazar and Anna would have to leave that day and head to Palo Alto to spend Christmas with the family, a celebration that Castiel had been cut and banned from ever being part of again.

As Balthazar packed the last of the bags away, the redhead next to him looked to Castiel with watery eyes and a deep frown. He opened his arms and embraced his little sister tightly, letting a hand run through her fiery hair and resting his chin on her head.

"I wish that you both could have stayed longer," he muttered, releasing Anna and wiping her fallen tears.

She quietly said, "I wish, too. This sucks."

"It's too bad the family hates you," Balthazar joked as he turned away from the packed trunk. He gave the driver a thumbs up before approaching Castiel and strongly embracing him.

"I'll miss you very much, cousin. Please don't punish yourself by staying alone on Christmas."

Castiel harrumphed, but hugged his cousin back affectionately. They separated and piled into the car, Castiel closing the door to the black Sedan and giving it a tap.

"Please, visit again soon."

"We will, Cassie," Anna smiled, "love you."

"Love you, too," he mumbled warmly.

As the engine started and the car began to drive, something dreadful and achingly sad hung over him and pulled him down.

Castiel was alone again.

--

Castiel's nights and days blurred, and he honestly couldn't care less for the difference. His heart ached, seeming to weigh him down to the bed, and felt heavy while the rest of his body felt numb. He couldn't move. He wouldn't move.

He couldn't sleep either, often finding himself staring at the dull screen of his dying phone or the white ceiling where a small lamp turned slowly. Empty bottles of beer sat atop the nightstand and were scattered next to him. He would have to replace them with fresh ones, soon.

The only times he did move were either to feed Midnight or to open the apartment door for her to go relieve herself. He didn't want to feel the cold air blowing past his face or feel the snow tickling his nose. He didn't want to interact with people. He didn't want coffee. He didn't want to feel anything.

He deserved this. He deserved to feel alone.

Christmas was once the only time Castiel truly felt like he was loved. Even though it was difficult for him to get out of bed during the holidays, Gabriel or Anna somehow managed to pull him out of his melancholic state and put a smile on his face. Balthazar often showered him and helped direct the attention away from Castiel during the holidays, and Meg flew by with her thorny personality just to anger the family, and Castiel could only ever be grateful for such actions.

This time, there was no Anna or Gabriel to pull him out of his depressing state and fill it with their love and happiness. There was no Baltazar, or Meg, or anyone. There was no tree, or decorations, or overly sweetened Christmas cookies, or any of the sorts. A dark apartment and distant Christmas music was all there was to accompany Castiel's melancholy.

They were probably having a better Christmas without him, he thought. They were all probably gathered at his mother's house, having the time of their lives and celebrating Castiel's lack of presence.

Deep down, he knew that they probably never even loved him. They tolerated him, except Balthazar, and maybe Anna and Gabriel. He couldn't understand why.

He was better off dead, he glumly thought.

A knock sounded from the living room and Castiel groaned.

Midnight whined and licked his hand, climbing onto his bed and resting her body at his feet. Castiel pulled the covers tight around his body and stared dully at the ceiling, then threw them to the side and lifted his heavy body from the safety of his bed.

When he opened the door, Charlie stood in what could probably go down as the world's ugliest Christmas sweater, a bright smile, and a wrapped box in her hands. He squinted against the fluorescent light and attempted to smile at her.

"I wanted to say Merry Christmas, but you don't look too merry. Are you alright?"

"I, uh, I am fine, Charlie," he mumbled.

"You're lying."

He let his sorry excuse for a smile fall and shrugged his shoulders, sighing and leaning against the door. Why even try? There was no point.

Charlie frowned, "I thought you said you were going to spend the holidays with your family?"

He glanced back at Midnight, who made her way to the door and licked the hand at his hide.

"Midnight is my family," Castiel mumbled pathetically as he stroked a hand against the top of her head.

Her frown deepened and her eyes looked so sadly at Castiel that he had to look away. Tears brimmed his eyes and he suddenly wanted to be back in his bed, away from Charlie's gaze and under his covers. Charlie, however, quickly reanimated and bounced on her heels.

"I have a solution. Get dressed."

Through low eyes, he stared at Charlie. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the comfort and darkness of his home.

"Look," she sighed, "it's Christmas Eve and you're my friend. I'm not going to let you swim in your depression, or if that's too heavy of a word, your sadness. You can even take Midnight with you."

Castiel stared at her pleading face for a moment before he sighed and opened the door wider.

"I will just be a moment. You can come in if you’d like."

He caught Charlie's wide, victorious smiled before he turned and walked in the direction of his room. Once he closed his door, he breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, hoping to clear his mind a bit. He approached his closet and looked warily at the clothes hung up and neatly folded against the hangers. Where was she even taking him?

"Wear an ugly sweater!" Charlie shouted from the other side of the door.

Sighing, he pulled out the bright red sweater with the image of reindeer prancing across it from every angle and green lining. He thanked Anna quietly for her hysterical Christmas gift from his senior year in high school as he pulled it over his head and tugged it downwards. He pulled on some warm and worn jeans and slipped on his old chukka boots, then stepped out of the room.
Charlie held Midnight's leash, the bloodhound tied on the other end and panting happily at the sight of Castiel.

"I just assumed you were taking Night with you, so I put her on a leash."

"Thank you," he said appreciatively as he grabbed his pea coat from the coat hanger and pulled his arms through.

When he finished putting on his outer wear, they left the apartment building with Midnight pulling them most of the way. Charlie hadn't mentioned where they were going. For all he knew, she could have been leading him to his death, and at this thought, Castiel glanced over at Charlie. Then he shrugged to himself. He'd probably thank him if she did.

The air felt cold against his cheeks, the sky twinkled with falling snow, and Castiel had scrunched his nose now and then at the snow entering as he breathed in. Christmas Eve this year appeared to be beautiful and filled with a sort of serene joy. Not for him though, Castiel pondered sadly.

"We're here," Charlie announced excitedly.

Icarus Cafe stood in front of him, adorned with twinkling Christmas lights and the jelly stick on holiday decorations on the window. The blinds were pulled closed and the sign on the door read CLOSED, but Christmas music bled through the cracks of the door and Castiel was confused. Why were they at the cafe?

Charlie pushed at the door, letting the loud music play through the open door, and tugged Castiel through with a kind smile.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie," someone exclaimed excitedly, and someone thrusted a creamy drink in her hand.

The chatter in the room died once they realized a stranger was in their presence, and Castiel took a moment to get a look at everyone. Jo and Benny were seated at one of the tables, curiously staring at Castiel, and a lanky boy, no older than 19 with hair touching the base of his neck, was leaning against the wall and stopping in mid speech with a tough looking girl with long, black hair. A woman with toffee colored hair that was cropped and touching the beginnings of her neck in the midst of wrestling a Santa Claus hat on to the head of a darker man with a close cut. Two men, one with a mullet, Ash, he remembered, and one with a slight bowl cut, continued to mess with coffee machines behind the counter and a young blonde hovered over the two with crossed arms and eyes on Castiel.

Midnight barked. Castiel felt anxious and uncomfortable.

"This is my friend and neighbor Castiel. He'll be joining us tonight, if that's alright with you guys."

Castiel caught the wide eyed stare from the lanky teen and knew immediately that he was Sam. He had the same eyes as Dean did, but just tinted with more brown.

Dean emerged from the other room, a large pitcher of eggnog in one hand and two mugs in the other. He stopped once his eyes spotted Castiel, and everyone's eyes noticeably turned to Dean. He wore a dark brown, knit sweater with a large Santa Claus knitted onto the front with khaki pants and derby boots to match. In a beat, Dean composed himself and approached him, offering him a mug and a small smile. Castiel graciously took it and smiled kindly, and everyone in the room visibly relaxed.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," Castiel murmured, earning a clap on the shoulder and a nod from the man with green eyes.

Everyone resumed and Charlie quickly mingled with the surrounding people, leaving Castiel to awkwardly stand near the door with his drink and Dean. The man pulled a notepad from his pocket and scribbled quickly, handing it to Castiel and then taking a sip from his mug.

Why so glum? It's Christmas Eve!

Castiel smiled sadly, "I am not very fond of the holidays. They, ah, do not bring good memories."

Familial problems?

"Something of the nature."

The night was going as smoothly as Castiel could ever hope it would. Ash and Garth, the man with the slight bowl cut, instantly engaged him in a conversations pertaining to the new, and 'Dammit, Garth! Microsoft beats Apple and drags em down a' alley by his legs! By his legs!' He was then saved by Jo, who introduced Castiel to her long time friend, the tough looking woman named Ruby, and boyfriend, the darker man named Victor. Immediately, Ruby shoved a plate of food into his hand and began to give him the third degree, Victor joining in occasionally with questions he knew that only a police officer would ask, and somehow he passed because Ruby gave Jo a look and all she did was nod.

"I guess you're alright," Ruby muttered exasperatedly, only giving Castiel a hint of a smile before walking back over to Sam with Jo.

Victor stayed behind, only to ask, "how do you know Dean?"

Castiel mulled over his rods for a moment.

"He was in a situation and I offered my assistance. He has been kind to me ever since. However, I am not sure if it is my place to tell you what that situation was."

Victor's face was one of surprise.

"I apologize," he quickly added, "but I would like to think of Dean as a friend of sorts and I would not want to say anything that he would not want anyone to know."

Then, Victor did something that threw Castiel off completely. He smiled.

"I like you, Castiel," the man said, clapping Castiel on the shoulder and turning away from him.

Before he could respond, he felt a tap on his shoulder and a tug on his arm. He turned and Dean stood in front of him, a leash in his hand and Midnight at the end of it, panting happily and licking Dean's hand.

"I apologize," he began, but Dean shook his head, moving his hand and petting her head affectionately. He then looked to Castiel with questioning eyes.

"Her name is Midnight. I found her when I moved here and have had her ever since."

Dean chuckled softly and looked down at the bloodhound's head, then he reached for the note pad. He wrote, Can I give her a scone?

"Yes. I think she would appreciate that."

Castiel watched him as he walked off, trying to hide the small smile that threatened to show.

"He loves dogs."

Castiel turned to the lanky boy, who stood next to him with his hands in his pockets and standing about 5 inches taller than Castiel.

"They are hard not to love," he agreed, smiling as he watched Midnight happily lick Dean's hand.

"You’re Castiel, right?" Sam questioned nervously. "You're the one that, uh, got Dean through his flashback?"

Castiel considered this for a moment. The day, he had assumed that he had a panic attack. Though now that he thought about it, a flashback could've been the actual cause of it.

He wondered briefly what the flashback could have been about, but quickly pushed the thought away.

"Yes."

"I'm Sam, his younger brother," the boy shook his hand awkwardly. "How did you know what to do?"

He looked to Sam earnestly, "I have been in a few positions where it was required for me to know what to do."

Sam looked at him with suspicion and what Castiel guessed was distrust. But after looking straight into Castiel's eyes, Sam seemed to do away with any ill will towards him.

"Thank you," Sam mumbled shyly, and then wandered over to the other side of the room where the younger blonde stood talking to Ash.

 

For an entire two hours, he could not find a moment of peace, which did not bother him much. There were, of course, activities that Charlie and Dean came up with for the night, including poker, eggnog chugging contest, and something called snap dragon, and he was somehow involved in every single one of them.

He supposed that Charlie more than likely had something to do with it.

--

Castiel excused himself from Becky, the girl with her hair cut short, during the gift exchange and ducked out through the back door, finding himself out in the cold air, feet crunching against the soft snow and hands tingling with chills as he leaned against the wall next to the door, taking steady breaths and keeping his eyes closed.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes and found Dean standing a few steps away from him. Castiel didn't jump. The man's deep eyes were trained on his and it took him a moment to notice the two beer bottles in his hands, one being held out in Castiel's direction.

"Thank you," Castiel muttered, taking the bottle and popping the cap from its top.

They drank quietly, watching the cats stealthily pass them and the moon attempt to peek out from the cloudy sky. Sam, curious and holding two full beer bottles, came to check on them once and left quickly after replacing their empty ones.

The snow began to fall again quietly, and as he looked to the night sky, Castiel's heart felt heavy in his chest, and he quickly realized that no amount of alcohol would numb this pain. His fingers curled tighter around the neck of the bottle as he took his last gulp. He set it down on the ground. Dean's eyes were on him again, full of concern and a small amount of curiosity, and he pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and a pen.

Castiel took the piece of paper from him when he held it out to him.

What's eating you, Cas?

He read it over a few times, looking to Dean and then to the paper as if it held some secret inscription, and sighed inwardly. His chest ached, his head throbbed, and he honestly had nothing left to lose.

He never realized what the toll of being alone would take on him, or how much it would truly affect him physically and mentally, until now.

"I have been by myself for four years, Dean."

He was quiet for a moment, and his eyes were locked on the outline of a small kitten on top of a garbage can topper. Dean waited patiently for him to continue, turning his body ever so slightly in his direction and looking at him with honest eyes.

"My family...they were very old fashion, very religious, and very close minded. My mother and father were the CEOs of Novak Enterprise Holdings, Inc. My father abandoned us when I was seven years old and my brother Michael became head of the family with his twin Lucias as his second in command. They were not as bad as I thought they would be, however, they did follow my mother's ideal lifestyle devoutly. Gabriel and Anna were not very keen on following the rules and rebelled when they could. I followed my mother because I thought it was the right thing to do." He chuckled softly. "My departure came as a surprise to almost all of them."

Castiel's eyes then wandered over to Dean's face and saw the man hand him the small paper.

So you're James Castiel Novak? You're the kid that suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth a few years back?

"Formerly. I changed my name when I came to Lawrence. It is Castiel Milton, now. Do not tell anyone, though. I...I do not wish for people to know yet."

Dean nodded his head and stared at his paper for a moment.

What happened? He wrote.

Castiel took a deep breath, and he leaned his head against the brick wall. His throat felt tight and dry, but he cleared it anyway and thought for a moment.

"When I was 15, my cousin Raphael caught me watching gay porn."

Unexpectedly, Dean began to laugh. Hard. His eyes were closed tightly, crinkling at the corners like Anna's, his mouth opened wide and revealing straight and pearly white teeth, and his head leaned back against the brick wall. His laugh shook his entire body, coming out deep and rich and making Castiel shiver in his coat. He decided that he liked Dean's laugh.

"I am glad you find it funny," he said with a smile, "unlike them. There was a family meeting and I was sent to a straight camp the very next day."

Dean's laugh came to an abrupt halt and his green eyes widened apologetically at him. With a nod, Castiel still smiled and looked towards the garbage can.

"Mother could not have my 'heinous preferences' bringing down the family name. I assumed that I would be able to at least fake my 'being cured' until the trust fund money was given to us. I even ended up being romantically involved with my friend Meg Masters, and I genuinely liked her, but we worked better as friends. Then Gabriel left."

Castiel's voice cracked and the wetness on his cheek was brought to his attention. Dean's eyebrows furrowed, and hesitantly, he lay a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

He continued, "he was not in his room and for weeks we looked for him, until we found a note from him stating his departure. It broke my mother's heart and made my uncles a bit more...aggressive. They were at the house every single day, keeping a close eye on us, and my mother completely enveloped herself in the company, only coming around once in awhile like a guest. And because my uncles were around more, that meant that Raphael was, as well."

His throat ached and his heart rammed away in his chest, and Castiel took a moment to wipe the tears from his face.

"Raphael was a vicious person. He overpowered me when it came to height and strength and character..and he was not kind or a person to be messed with. He once sent a man to assault me on my way home," Dean's breath caught in his throat, and Castiel looked at his shoes. "I barely escaped and he only smiled. Then, in my senior year, Anna had had enough of their nonsense and convinced me to leave the house, the family, everything behind.

I had already planned on leaving, but she gave me the push I needed. I bought an apartment in Lawrence with cash, all the way on the other side of town and a bit farther from the University, and I slowly sent my stuff away until I was left with only a few books, some clothes, and my tooth brushes. Raphael was the only one who remained suspicious, even after I told a lie and said I was giving away my possessions to focus more on my studies. However, it convinced my uncles, and Balthazar was receiving my things and putting them away. I left during the day after Christmas. I was then found, excommunicated, and disowned, however I was intelligent enough to take most of my savings and inheritance from my father's disappearance and hide it away in an account under Balthazar's name."

This time he looked at Dean, hands pushed down into his coat pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

"Christmas was always a time where, regardless of the difference in views, everyone still came together and became a functional family. I.....I am used to it, but it is still something that hurts, especially around Christmas time, to know that there is no one there." He paused, and sucked in a breath. "It is sad," he added quietly.

Dean looked at him with a face full of understanding, green eyes squinting sadly at Castiel and a frown pulling his lips downward as he reached out and squeezed Castiel's shoulder firmly. I'm sorry, his eyes seemed to say. Then, very carefully, very slowly, he pulled Cas into a hug, wrapping his arms around him and patting his back comfortingly. He could feel Dean's stiff body begin to tremble, but Castiel wrapped both arms around him and felt him stop.

"Cas."

Dean's voice was a low rumble, rough and sweet against Castiel's hand that lay on his back, and it was better than what Castiel imagined his voice would sound like. So much better.

Castiel, astonished and lost, took a moment to gather his thoughts, but could only think of one thing to say.

"Thank you, Dean."

--

When Castiel got in that night, he found his door cracked open and the light in the kitchen turned on. It could not have been Anna or Balthazar. No one but Castiel had a key to the apartment. Cautiously, he pulled the bat from the umbrella stand by the door into his hand and held it tightly in his grasp. Approaching the kitchen quietly, Castiel stood face to face with a familiar figure.

His dirty blonde hair was pushed back, eyes bright brown and staring at Castiel with happiness, and the stocky man held his hands open to the shocked man.

"Heya, baby bro!" Gabriel threw his arms up.

 

--

When Castiel was 8 and Gabriel was 16, his brother told him that he would go to the store and come back soon. He did not come back that evening, or the next day, or the next day, and he'd been reported missing the third day. He was brought back a week later.

He did not speak a word to Gabriel for a week, the same amount of time that he'd been gone for. Castiel was prepared to do that again.

And that's how Castiel found himself sitting in his room, lights turned off and music playing softly, with Gabriel seated on the other couch.

"Castiel, can we just talk?"

Castiel did not want to talk. He wanted be alone. He wanted to enter a dreamless sleep and wake up in an alternate universe made up only of coffee shops and green eyes.

"Just let me explain. Please."

"I went looking for Dad, Castiel."

"Is that right?" He scoffed. "And how did that go?"

"I found him."

Chapter Text

"And there’s the door

You can quit right now, up and leave

You don't need this anymore

Or you can

Open up your broken heart

And keep on wanting

Fallen saints and fallen stars

They don't mean nothing

Everybody feels locked out of a house they can’t get in

So open up your broken heart

And keep on wanting

So keep on wanting

The Fray - Keep On Wanting

At the young age of 8 years old, Castiel's brother, Gabriel, told him that he would go to the store and come back soon. He did not come back that evening, or the next day, or the next day, and he'd been reported missing the third day. Two weeks later, the authorities found Gabriel at the edge of town, walking to a diner at the dead of night in search of food.

He did not speak a word to Gabriel for two weeks, the same amount of time that he'd been gone for, and Castiel was prepared to do it again.

And that's how Castiel found himself sitting in his room, lights turned off and music playing softly, Gabriel sitting on the floor on the other side of the door. A brand new bottle of bourbon sat in a tight grip between Castiel's hands, now almost empty and in need of being replaced.

He did not remember grabbing the bottle, or why his foot throbbed in tight shoes, and the journey to his room seemed to be a blur to him. But he remembered Gabriel's face. He remembered the smile his brother wore on his face and the shake of his hands from the nervousness that undoubtedly coursed through him. Of course, Gabriel would have been nervous. He knew what kind of person Castiel had been. The ache in the pit of his chest curdled up to his heart and down through his bloodstream, filling him entirely with dread and covering him with a melancholic sheet. Again, he wanted to hide, and an unconscious part of him lead him to the kitchen cabinet, then to his room, and that was how he found himself now.

The curtains were pulled shut, blocking the glare of the moon on the snow from reaching his room. His sweater hung off the dresser, deserted and ugly even in the darkness, and his hands ran through his hair more frequently. He felt numb, but at the same time, he felt angry. He felt betrayed and lost and sad and the alcohol was not going to be enough. Not one bottle, at least.

"If you're attempting to push me away with your crap taste in music, it's not gonna work, bucko."

Silence.

"Okay, maybe it will. Paper Kites? Seriously?"

Silence. Castiel took a small sip, caressing the bottle's neck between his fingers and swishing it around once lowered.

"Castiel, can we just talk?"

Castiel did not want to talk. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to enter a dreamless sleep and wake up in an alternate universe made up only of coffee shops and green eyes.

"Just let me explain. Please."

The bottle in Castiel's hands went flying towards the door, smashing to dozens and dozens of pieces against the wood, earning a strangled sound from Gabriel on the other side. Castiel's hands, legs, entire body trembled and swayed as he stood, but his feet refused to move from their very spot.

"Castiel," Gabriel started calmly from the other side, "I know you're angry b-"

"Angry?" Castiel roared, approaching the door, tripping over his shoes once and catching himself, landing a shaking hand on the soaked door knob and swinging the door open.

So much for silence.

Gabriel stood wide eyed, staring at Castiel with hands thrown in the air in defense. He looked small compared to Castiel, standing about four inches under him, cowering under his younger brothers rage. He almost reminded Castiel of a small dog, were it not for the prominent beard swallowing his face.

"Angry," Castiel faltered, hiccuped and chuckled mirthlessly, "angry is not the word that I would use."

"Then explain!" Gabriel exclaimed. "Tell me what's really up your ass that's making you such an asshole!"

" I'm the asshole? You’re the one who left! I thought you were dead!"

Silence. Gabriel looked to Castiel's eyes, sad and brown, suddenly watery.

"I did not hear from you for 10 years," he exclaimed, his throat protesting with stings, "I thought your were-"

A knock interrupted his next words, a loud voice sounding from the other side, "Are you alright in there?"

Charlie. As he went to answer the door, Gabriel pushed Castiel back and gave him a warning look.

"You aren't going to answer the door this way," he growled lowly, approaching the door himself.

Castiel sat on the couch with his head in his hands, his face feeling too hot for his palms and his legs shaking under his elbows, eyes watering through his palms.

"No offense, shortstack," he heard Charlie say and he could almost hug her. "This is Castiel's apartment and I want to hear him say he's okay. Not some weirdo with a pedophilic beard."

Gabriel huffed, and Castiel looked up. The light flooding in from the hallway never looked too bright to him, but it made his eyes squint and burn. Slowly, he stood from his place on the couch and dragged his lead-like body to the door.

Charlie gasped. Castiel must have looked terrible.

"Hello, Charlie," his voice came out cracked and abused.

"Are you okay? Who is that?"

Clearing his throat, he answered, "I am fine. This is....this is just a complicated situation that I must handle. But, I swear to you that I am fine."

"Cas-"

"Charlie, please. I swear."

Charlie stood for a moment, arms crossed defiantly over her chest and her face pulled into a concerned expression. Then, her arms were around Castiel, and honestly, he didn't expect this. He must have looked and seemed as off as he felt.

"Okay," Charlie said, looking once more at Castiel, letting her eyes flicker to the dirty blonde behind him, and backed away from his door.

Castiel, feeling overwhelmed and drained, shut the door and turned back around to look at Gabriel, or at least try.

"I went looking for Dad, Castiel."

"Is that right?" He scoffed. "And how did that go?"

"I found him."

Castiel suddenly turned on the heels of his feet, his hair wild, his eyes filled with something more than anger.

"That," he spat, "is the most foul, most repugnant lie you have ever told!"

"I swear! I have proof and-"

"I do not need your proof. Our father is dead."

"Castiel-"

"He is dead to me," Castiel sounded so adamant, surprising himself but never letting his eyes leave his older brother's. Gabriel studied Castiel sadly, and Castiel stood as straight and steady as his drunken body possibly could.

Resignedly, the dirty blonde sighed. "Can I stay?"

Castiel leered.

"I was expecting a much warmer welcome," he joked carefully, "I didn't book a room. I can explain everything in the morning, if you want-"

"I do not need-"

"-but I can't do that if I'm tired and if you're drunk off your ass and ready to kill me. So, please, brother. Can I stay?"

However much anger he felt towards Gabriel, he did not want to his brother to leave. After so long....he hadn't seen Gabriel in ten years. The sympathetic, conscious part of him knew how much Castiel would regret turning him away.

"You may stay," Castiel muttered tiredly. "This, however, does not mean anything. Nothing is mended or forgiven."

Gabriel shook his head with a resigned look, scooping up his bags and made his way, leaving Castiel to stand alone and drunk. With a sigh, he pulled his jacket from his place on the hook, grabbing his keys and pulling his shoes on.

He would need more beer.

--

Christmas wasn't much for Castiel. Gabriel mostly stayed out of his way, only knocking on his door to give Castiel his present and the present from Charlie, which both remained unopened on his dresser.

He didn't eat much, nor did he sleep, or move really. His insides felt like they were being blended up in an endless whirlpool consisting of glass shards on its sides.

He thought of Dean. He thought of the bright green eyes, the tortured and startled look he'd catch him wearing when there was no one looking, as if an entire war were going on in his head. He thought of his freckles, peppered across his cheeks and gathering closely along his nose, dancing along what could be seen of Dean's neck and along his hands. His strong hands came to mind, long, thick fingers caressing anything they held, his palms rough and scarred from years unknown to Castiel. Dean's long legs, striding or stumbling, curved away from each other, but often reminded Castiel of a flamingo's leg. The curves of his torso underneath his tight button up shirts complimented his body, and Dean overall was more than just handsome.

Dean Winchester was beautiful, in every aspect of the term.

And all the while he thought about this, a single sentence frequented in Castiel's thoughts.

He would never want me.

The only thing Castiel could ever admit to himself was that he was a broken human being, built up on weak wooden crates, ready to timber when the winds got too strong, and meekly building himself back up once it was all over.

He was damaged.

Castiel felt sick.

The lights remained off throughout the day, and he hadn't moved from his bed since the day before, and the only thing he truly cared for were the beer bottles that sat next to his bed, waiting to be opened. Midnight whined and scratched at his door, but nothing could break Castiel from his dark, hollow mind or his lips that latched onto the brown glass bottle.

He was, in fact, alone.

--

Waking up the next morning, Castiel laid in bed with his hands held over his face and his stomach twisting sickly, undoubtedly from last night's over indulgence of bourbon and beer. His head ached, his mouth felt dry and tasted of something acrid, something he could not quite place.

He took a moment to stare up at the ceiling, chest bare and cold, eyes blurred and crusted, and lips dried with the lack of hydration, to collect himself and remember why he felt so terrible. And then it all hit him once. Gabriel was back.

Castiel groaned, lifting the pillow and placing it over his face in embarrassment and dread.

Once he washed his face and brushed his teeth, he left the bathroom and was greeted by the overjoyed bloodhound, doggy breath and all, paws landing on his knees enthusiastically.

"Down, girl. I missed you, too."

Midnight looked up to him, panting, eyes wide and brown.

"I am sorry," Castiel apologized, petting her head to her back, earning a happy yip and a lick to his hand.

Midnight followed him to the kitchen, and Castiel filled her bowl for her, avoiding Gabriel's gaze completely. Finally, he sat at the table with his hands in his lap, glancing over at Gabriel's sleep mussed hair and baggy eyes. It was a few minutes before Gabriel spoke.

"Hangover food," Gabriel tried, placing a dish and a glass of orange juice in front of him.

"I am not very hungry," Castiel muttered, suddenly standing from the stool and ready to make his escape.

"Castiel, please," Gabriel pleaded.

His foot froze in place.

"You're going to have to talk to me and I'm not going to leave until you do."

He would have to speak to him eventually.

"Okay."

He resumed his spot on the stool, pulling the plate closer to him, giving Gabriel a long look and a frown.

"You are going to tell me everything. Why you left, where you have been for the past ten years, and why you decided to show up on Christmas Eve." He stated this thickly, staring at Gabriel with wide, blue eyes and a hard line of his mouth.

"Okay," Gabriel sighed. "But you have to tell me what's been happening in that mind of your's. Don't think I didn't notice your unresponsive state yesterday."

And once Gabriel sat down, he plunged into the story of how he successfully disappeared from the Novak radar. Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn't at least slightly amused. The 28 year old, 18 at the time, gathered all of his money, including his inheritance, trust fund, and life savings, and transferred it all to a bank account that Balthazar opened up for him.

"Balthazar seems to be a recurring helper in our lives," Castiel noted.

Gabriel then bought a plane ticket to the most unexpected place- Perth Amboy, New Jersey- and resided in a motel for about a year, adorning long hair and a beard during his stay to hide from the media. After a year of hiding, he traded his contacts in for a pair of reading glasses and changed his name from Gabrielexander Nicholas Novak to Gabriel James Milton.

"The 'Milton' was pure coincidence," he laughed, swinging a bite of eggs on his fork and into his mouth, "I was thinking about grandma."

"As was I," Castiel smiled. "You still did not tell me why you left."

"I told you already, I went looking for Dad. Plus, Mom and Michael were driving me nuts with their 'ideal" lifestyle and 'life in the public eye."

"I loathe that word."

"You and I both."

Castiel took a bite out of his toast, appreciating the small amount of butter that Gabriel slathered on. With an affirming sound, Castiel lifted the glass of orange juice to his mouth and took a sip.

"So, is all forgiven?" Gabriel took an exaggerated bite from his toast.

"Not completely, no," Castiel sighed, "It will take me a while."

Gabriel agreed, deflated and studying his plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "That's understandable. Can I still stay?"

"I see no harm in it. Stay as long as you need."

Castiel placed his plate in the sink, finished the rest of his orange juice off, and placed it next to the plate.

"Castiel?"

With eyebrows pulled downwards and his jaw set, Gabriel looked more serious than Castiel had ever seen him. This worried him.

Concerned, he wondered, "What is it, Gabriel?"

"You mind telling me what happened to you yesterday?"

Castiel looked to Gabriel.

"I remember having a few, uh, difficulties up in that noggin of yours before I left, but nothing like this." Gabriel twiddled his thumbs and continued. "I almost called the..I just want to know if you're doing okay."

Castiel blinked.

"Gabriel, I am fine," he half smiled, "there is no need to worry about me."

Despite the unconvinced look in his eyes, Gabriel popped an "okay."

It wasn't a complete lie. He considered the fact that he was no longer hugging a bottle to his chest for comfort, and that was as close to okay as he would be today. Things could have been much worse. He could have ended up the same way he did last winter, locked away in his apartment for almost the entirety of the winter quarter of school. This year, in some aspect, was much better than last year.

Though, his alcohol intake was questionable.

Okay, beyond questionable.

In the last month, he realized, he'd drank more than he ever had.

Drinking wasn't the problem, and Castiel knew that. He wasn't hooked, he didn't need it as much as everyone thought he did, and the taste was very unappealing to him. Also, the after effects were unwelcoming.

So why did he drink?

An exasperated Castiel rested his head against the tiles of his shower wall. The hot drops of water ran down his back, to his legs, and down the drain, and he sighed. Alcohol tasted better than feeling, he thought, but it wasn't healthy.

As he wrapped a towel around his taut waist, he wiped the fog from the mirror and wheezed out in surprise. His face, flushed to a sickly porcelain color and in desperate need of a shave, reminded Castiel of Anna's face when she came down with the flu. His eyes were circled with dark shadows, his cheeks tinged pink, eyes a glassy red.

He decided, then and there, that the drinking would end that day.

--

The walk to the cafe felt odd. At 12 in the afternoon, Castiel would've thought that the streets would be bustling with people for the lunch hour, but he guessed that the holidays had something to do with it. The sun, clouded but somehow shining through, glistened and reflected off of the snow, however, it still felt cold as he tugged his pea coat closer to him.

Instead of his messenger bag, Castiel carried his notebook and pen in his gloved hands and a book tucked underneath his arm. Today, the coffee shop was empty, aside from Benny and Jo, who were playing cards over the counter. They seemed to be in the midst of a heated argument. When the bells above the door clinged, both of their heads twisted in Castiel's direction, and Jo puffed.

"Well, Castiel is here. He can be the judge of this."

Benny chuckled, running a hand over his face. "Jo seems to think 'm cheatin'. Can you believe that?"

"I don't think," Jo seethed, "I know."

Feeling a bit intimidated by Jo's air of hostility, Castiel debated if he should stay.

"People don't really come in during the holidays," Benny explained, gesturing his arms towards the empty tables. "Actually, I told Joanna Beth," 'it's Jo!' "to flip the sign to CLOSED. You're welcome to stay, though."

"If it is alright with you. Home is.." Castiel paused, "home is not a suitable place for me at the moment."

Benny smiled kindly, and Jo stood up, slamming the cards down on the table and throwing a dish cloth at Benny's face. The gruff man glowered at her jokingly, watching as she walked towards the counter.

" I'm going to make hot chocolate. Watch my cards, Cas. Make sure this bear isn't cheating."

She rounded the counter and disappeared through the back room door, leaving Castiel to awkwardly stand near the door next to Benny with a considering look at Jo’s retreating back.

"She is one helluva woman.." Benny shook his head, "Her mother would have my head, though."

Castiel tilted his head and considered this. It was quite obvious, with the way Benny always looked at her with flecks of endearment, that Benny had more than just friendly feelings for the short blonde.

"Does she know?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Benny sighed.

"Perhaps you should take her out to dinner," Castiel suggested.

Benny hummed. "You think?"

"It has been said to be a, er, first step."

The gruff man chuckled, "You don' go out much, do ya, Cas?"

"I have not found the time to," Castiel answered honestly.

At this, he decided to take his usual seat and as if on queue, Dean came through the back door, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and whistling to the loud music that played through the speakers. Castiel only caught the intricate lines of black before the green eyed man hastily tugged down his sleeves. His smile was wide, wider than Castiel had ever seen, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile, and Castiel almost forgot how to breath.

Dean approached him with two steaming mugs, setting them on the table and sitting across from him with the same smile.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel cleared his throat, sliding a piece of paper and his pen towards the freckled man. Dean began to scribble while Castiel took a sip from the mug. The warm, chocolatey taste streamed down his throat and warmed him from inside, causing his cheeks to flush and Dean to chuckle when he finished.

Hey, Cas. Charlie told me about Christmas.

Castiel placed the mug on the table and bit his lip. Of course Charlie would tell Dean about Christmas. What did he expect?

"Ah.." Castiel shook his head, searching for the proper words to say. Dean stared patiently. "As I told you, Christmas has been a bit of a...hurdle for me for the past four years. This Christmas, however, Gabriel appeared at my apartment."

Dean seemed perplexed by this, eyebrows shot upwards and eyes widening a bit more. He pulled the paper towards him, writing something quickly and passing it back to Castiel.

Your brother Gabriel?

"Ah, yes. He came and...and I drank. Heavily. And I am not very fond of the taste of alcohol." Castiel cringed. His fingers ran through his disheveled hair anxiously, and he picked the mug up by the handle. "I..I have dysthymia, a type of depression, and it is not exactly easy. I can usually handle it, but with exams over and classes over for winter..it gets to be unbearable."

Dean's eyes were clouded with a shadow of something Castiel couldn't quite place as he wrote.

My dad was an alcoholic.

Dean had a hard look on his face, his hand shaking a bit as he slid the paper back towards him. Castiel watched his rough hands as he passed the paper back to him.

When I was living with him, he'd drink non-stop. He'd have 4 beers for breakfast, a bottle of whiskey for lunch, and a whole 6 pack for dinner. Sometimes, he'd disappear for days and I wouldn't know where the hell he was.

Something was crossed out beneath that, but Castiel ignored it. Dean was staring at him when he looked up, and Castiel chose his words carefully.

"I am no alcoholic, Dean."

And Dean shook his head in understanding, pulling the paper back to him, scribbling something quickly.

I know. I know an alcoholic when I see one. You just sounded like you had a bad month. And that's alright. And, y'know, I'm here if you need to talk.

Castiel's smile was small. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean clapped his shoulder, smiling warmly and stopping Castiel's heart in the process. His touch lingered for a moment, firm and kind, and Castiel could feel his face flush with warmth. Dean's eyes flickered with something, bright and green and on Castiel's own eyes.

Interested?

Endearment?

Highly unlikely, he notioned.

As if snapping out of something, Dean cleared his throat and lifted his hand from Castiel's shoulder to write something on the paper again.

No laptop today?

"No. I often vacillate between notebook writing and typing. I find that it helps with my writing."

You're a writer?

"Unprofessionally, yes. I am working on a book, but I've been having some trouble with it."

Really? What kind of stuff do you write?

"It is all mostly fictional with dystopian societies," bashfully, he added, "though I have been told that my characters often carry the same personality traits as those around me."

How about your book?

"My current book is about a man on a journey to overthrow the cyber universe. "

Dean, impressed, quickly wrote, Man, that sounds awesome. I'd love to read some of your stuff some time.

Castiel stuttered, surprised, "Really?"

Yeah, man, of course. I love that genre of fiction, and you sound like you know your shit. Tell me more about it.

With a flushed smile, Castiel shyly looked down at his near empty mug of cocoa, then looked up to Dean and plummeted into a vivid description of his unfinished book.

--

When Castiel arrived at his apartment, he found Gabriel in the kitchen covered in an obscene amount of flour and a bit of chocolate on his cheek. The kitchen looked clean aside from the large deposit of flour in the corner of the counter, and the mountain of plates in the sink.

"I'm making your favorite. Chocolate mousse cake....unless it's not your favorite anymore."

"No. It still is," Castiel smiled at his brother. He placed his laptop on top of the island and pulled out its plug.

"You're still a writer, right?"

"Yes," he muttered as he plugged up the cord and connected it to his laptop. "Actually, if I can get this book finished, I am hoping to seek out publishing houses, if it’s good enough."

"Really?" Gabriel looked interested, leaning against the counter and ruffling bits of flour from his hair. "Can I maybe read it?”

"Yes, of course."

Gabriel, with a satisfied grin, skipped from the kitchen, and Castiel cracked his fingers in preparation for typing.

Chapter Text

Killed myself when I was young

With my fingers on a poison gun

'Cause I had to come back new

Wanna walk on the ocean blue

A. A. Bondy - I Killed Myself When I Was Young

Part One

That night, Dean returned home with takeout and a case of beers. Sam, who usually came home after him, was sprawled out on the couch, a large text book in his hand and the TV playing in the background.

He felt great. He hadn't felt this great in a while, so he embraced this new feeling with open arms. With a bounce in his step and a smile on his face, Dean whistled on his way to the couch, moving Sam's legs out of the way and plopping down next to him.

"Great, you brought food."

Dean yanked a piece of paper from his notebook and began to write.

I got tired of your rabbit shit.

Sam scoffed, tugging the bag from Dean's grasp. "Well, I'll live longer and look better, unlike you, fatty."

Dean scoffed and pushed Sam's legs completely off of the couch. His younger brother gave him a look and rolled his eyes belightedly, opening up the takeout boxes and pulling the spoons from the bag for himself and Sam. They settled into a comfortable silence, a show about a time traveling man playing on the TV.

About a few minutes into the next episode, Sam became fidgety, adjusting the food in his lap a few times and arranging his long legs every few seconds. Dean stared at him through curious eyes. He kicked him.

"What was that for?" Sam wondered aloud, startled by the sudden push.

Dean stared at him again with questioning eyes, and Sam ducked his head a bit.

What's got you so fidgety? Did something happen?

"Nah..nothing happened. It's just..ah.."

Dean nodded his head for him to continue.

"I was...I was thinking of maybe having Sarah over? And uh..maybe asking her out."

A look of surprise crossed Dean's face. This was not what he was expecting. Nevertheless, a shiteating grin completely dominated his face. It had been a while since Sam really talked about a girl. The last girl, Jess, was the topic of the day for months up until she told him how she really felt, which was only a friendly feeling and nothing more. Dean still had a little hope for her. He liked Jess. She didn't treat him like a mental case or anything. She treated him as if she were any other person. However, from the way Sam spoke about her, she seemed to be the complete opposite of Jess.

Dean chuckled softly. Of course, it had to do with a girl.

"So you're cool with it? 'Cause if you're not, I won't do ask her..and.."

As Sam spoke, Dean scribbled something down with a deep frown on his face, then shoved it into his chest.

Man, this is your place, too. You can bring whoever the hell you want.

The shaggy haired boy read it over a few times, sighing and handing it back to him.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Dean rolled his eyes.

Quit being a little bitch and ask the girl out, Samantha.

Dean chucked a spoon at Sam's insulting expression, initiating a food fight that dragged from the living room to the kitchen.

 

When Dean entered his room, he pulled his shirt off and kicked his pants into the corner, completely averting his eyes from the mirror. Mirrors were always a problem for him. With therapy, he was able to look into his mirror at his face without wanting to skin himself alive, however, the rest of his body would always be an issue.

His body dropped onto the bed, legs and arms spread out across the sheets, eyes on the light that hung above his head in the center of the room. He thought about Castiel and his book. The man was odd, but he wouldn't deny it. He liked Castiel, in more than a friendly way, to be exact. His scarred hand ran over his face again as he thought of the stormy blue eyes, and how they warmed when he smiled, and how they squinted and crinkled at the slightest things.

Fuck.

Dean liked Cas.

But what were the chances of Castiel feeling that way for Dean? Honest! He was screwed up, all broken porcelain and sewn up like a raggedy doll. He was no good. He wasn't good enough for anyone, Cas at the matter.

His gut twisted in a sick way, and he closed his eyes.

--

The next day wasn't any better.

"What's got you so happy?" Sam asked when Dean practically jumped into the kitchen the next morning.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, taking his seat across the island from where his brother stood with breakfast. He looked over at Sam. He now leaned against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest and an even weirder look on his face, the breakfast plates settled on the marble.

Sam sat with a contemplating look, glancing skeptically at Dean and taking a bite of his food. Dean's mind drifted to Castiel's eyes and the crinkles that adorned his face when he smiled.

After a long night of self depricating thoughts and nervous tossing and turning, Dean decided that it was okay to feel the way he did about Castiel, even if he the guy didn't feel the same. He never had to know, and Dean would be fine just being his friend.

And Dean didn't think he could handle being rejected by Castiel. Sure, he was...odd, to say the least, but Cas was everything good with a sprinkle of suffering and a dash of a rocky past. Being around Castiel for those few hours in the coffee shop made Dean feel good. Cas was good.

"No," Sam blurted out, placing his fork on his empty plate. "Something's definitely different."

Dean gave him a pointed look, hoping the taller teen would drop it, and reached across to place his plate over Sam's.

"Yesterday, you practically skipped into the kitchen. You've been like this since the Christmas party, ever since Castiel.." Sam trailed off and Dean immediately regretted it.

Dammit. Sam's eyebrows rose as high as they could.

"So it's Castiel?"

Dean groaned, laying his head across his arms on the island, pushing the plate of food away from him. He did not want to talk about this. Sam scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do you even know him well enough?"

Dean grunted, which translated to: Get off of my back.

"Dean," Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Do you know if he's a good guy?"

"Sam." This time Dean looked up, giving a warning look, feeling the anger rise in his chest.

"Since when did you even like men?"

"Sam!"

Sam startled, sitting straighter and really looking at Dean, who stared at him steadily and pulled the pen from the notepad on the island. He scribbled sloppily, but stopped mid sentence to look at Sam. Screw it.

In his clenched hands, Dean crumpled the peice of paper and tossed it in the trash can near between the sink and fridge. He fumed a bit, hands clenched at his sides and mouth gaping at his brother, as if ready to say something. Anything. Sam stared at him with wide eyes. After a few seconds, Dean closed his mouth, jaw clenched, and he shook his head at his younger brother. Before Sam could say anything, Dean stood from the table, wiping the grease of the bacon from his mouth, and rushing to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him.

Sam never knew when to shut the hell up.

Both hands ran over his face and through his hair, a sigh left his mouth, and he took a seat atop the toilet cover. Outside, it poured buckets upon buckets of rain, and they patterned against the bathroom window.

In the mirror, Dean's wide green eyes stared back him, heavy and sullen, and his lip rolled in tightly and scraping the scruff above his under and up lip together. A vein in his neck protruded beneath the black lines that danced around his collar, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, and he realized he was shaking.

What the fuck did Sam even know about him? Sam didn't know jack squat.

Dean's blood boiled. Sam was just as oblivious as the rest of the sons of bitches who thought they had a clue of what ran through his head. Sam only new little bits of what happened those few years ago. But that was his own fault.

He sighed. Mary and Sam only knew the parts that were in his file, while the others only knew through the newspapers.

Plus, if he hadn't been such a crap son, maybe he wouldn't be what he was now.

Damaged goods.

His hands shook with the grip he had on the porcelain sink bowl. He was right, right? There couldn't have been any other explanation for why John was able to give him up so easily.

Sighing, he let his head fall. He couldn't do this. Not today.

As he removed himself from the bathroom, freshly showered and a towel tied around his waist, he checked for Sam in the kitchen. A small peice of paper sat under the magnet on the fridge, but he didn't bother reading it.

Quickly, he threw on a turtle neck and some loose pants, and he tied on his boots and threw his jacket on. Once outside, he quickly regretted not bringing an umbrella with him. The rain soaked his hair immediately, and his jacket wasn't enough to protect the rest of his body.

When he opened the car, Dean took his place in the driver's seat, settling the key in the ignition and turning.

The engine gave a lurching grumble and died.

He tried again.

And again.

And again.

Dammit.

The car wouldn't start.

Of all the things that could happen to him today, it had to be this.

His fucking car wouldn't start. He would have to walk today. He pat the pockets of his pants and sighed angrily when he realized that he left his keys in the key bowl. Fuck.

When he jogged into the coffee shop, he shook his hair of the rainwater that trickled down his scalp and dripped onto his drenched shirt, hidden under his leather jacket.

"Feelin' a little wet there, Dean?" Benny snickered from behind the counter.

Dean's finger flew up as he rounded the counter and entered the back room. Jo stood with a refilled can of coffee beans in her arms, her apron thrown over her left shoulder and her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

"You look like a wet dog," she muttered distastefully, shifting to the other leg.

Dean gave her a look as he grabbed a towel off of the rag shelf, and he shrugged the wet jacket from his shoulders.

"Car died?"

He shook his head.

"Bad morning?"

He shook his head again, sighing, rolling his shoulders back, bringing his hands up to his face to rub off the exces water. When he looked at her, Jo had a small smile on her face and she started for the door again.

"Paste on a smile for a few hours. I'll take you out for drinks after, if you want."

Weakly, the man smiled and shook his head no, as if to assure her that he would be fine. Jo left the back room, and Dean was by himself. Maybe his day would get progressively better.

Once he left the back room, things declined quickly. The loop of his apron got caught on a low hook, thrusting him backwards with a customer's drink. With stained pants and a ruined turtle neck, Dean messed up three orders and ruined a total of five drinks. It was new a record.

Dean's morning was, to say the least, a bag of shit on a summer day.

Castiel didn't come in that day.

--

"No one's gonna want you once I'm done with you," he could hear Alastair sing sweetly, and Dean couldn't tell what was real.

Dean gulped.

This wasn't real. The chains binding his hands and feet to the post weren't real. The tools lined up on the rusting plater weren't real.

Just as the edges of the memories began to blend back to reality, he felt something.

"You're all mine," the words tickled the back of his neck like a forbidden breeze.

Dean's naked body hung low on the chains, his wrists aching and bleeding from the rusty metal, undoubtedly infected.

"Dean!"

Dean looked around the dark room, hands still cold from chains that no longer existed and chest still aching from closed wounds.

"Dean, wake up!"

The man jolted from his sleep, eyes wide open and wet, chest rising and falling fast with his erratic breathing, body shaking under the grip of his brother's arms. Sam's body was close to his, and his voice was loud and clear.

"It was not real. Dean, you're home."

It took a few repetitions and a few minutes of deep breathing, but Dean relaxed in his brother's arms. He felt tired. His body ached with any sudden movement, and his wrists throbbed with rushing blood. Dean sighed. Sam offered him a glass of water and flicked on the lights.

"Dean, I'm sorry for what I said earlier," the taller boy suddenly said, looking at his hands in his lap with drooping eyes. "It wasn't my place to say anything. I was wrong."

Dean took a moment, staring at the glass of water in his hand then to his younger brother. His hair was mussed, hanging over his forehead, and his face sagged with exhaustion. Dean felt horrible. Of course Sam felt this way. Of course Sam wanted to know what was wrong with him or whether he was making the right decision. Sam was his brother. He was his annoying, overprotective, younger brother no matter how giant he was, and after Dean being missing for 5 years, of course he would be worried about him.

He was a terrible brother.

Hesitantly, Dean pulled his brother into a hug. However strained and tense it was, Sam accepted. Dean was trying.

"Sorry." Dean muttered.

--

There was a reason behind Dean's selective hatred for certain things. A lot cam from his time with Alastair, while others came from his time before and after Alastair. They were fears, but Dean would never admit that.

For example, his fear for sudden noises emitted from Alastair's cruel entrances. When he was angry, which was almost every day, he would make a noisy entrance, banging pans or ringing a bell, anything really, and Dean knew that the day ahead of him would be much more painful than the day before.

As the new year started off, a fear of Dean's came to light. Once the weather got warmer, he would have to start wearing lighter clothes, meaning that Dean would would have to

Another fear made an appearance at the cafe that Tuesday morning. Castiel Dean served his last drink for the afternoon and threw his apron at Benny with a smile, approaching Castiel with a small smile. The shop was half empty today with only a few regulars scattered around the coffee shop. As he slid into the booth, he noticed Castiel's laptop turned in his direction and a bright smile lighting up the blue eyed man's face.

"I would like you to read the first chapter."

Astonished, he stared at Castiel, frozen in place and at a loss for words. The man's smile slowly dropped, Castiel's face flushing red with embarrassment, his hands fumbling with each other as he went to pull the laptop back.

"You do not have to. It was..uh..just an idea."

"Wait," Dean said, still surprised, pulling Castiel's notebook towards him to write something.

I didn't mean to seem weirded out. It's just that..this is your writing. This is what you think about and stuff, and all your hard work and you want me to read some of it. You want me to read the first chapter.

Castiel smiled, "I would like to think of you as a close friend. You are one of the rare few that have showed any interest in my writing, and I would like to share this with you."

That's all it took for Dean to smile and pull the laptop to himself.

 

Dean held his breath and looked at Castiel with surprised eyes, and Castiel looked to him nervously. His hands were anxiouslymwringing each other, and his white teeth nibbled at his bottom lip.

"Well?"

Dean smiled a rare, wide smile and pulled a paper from the notebook. He wrote.

Man...this is awesome, and this is only the first chapter. James is fucking bad ass, the way he fights his way through the crowd of demons and fucking slaughters most of the angels..and I could see the foreshadowing. And your style so far reminds me of William Golding. Are you sure you're not a distant cousin or something?

Castiel's smile, wide and crinkling at the corners of his eyes, warmed Dean's insides. He pulled the laptop back towards him nd pull the top shut, then he pushed it into his messenger bag with flushed cheeks.

"I am an amateur compared to him."

Nah, man. You're legendary. Honest.

As Castiel opened his mouth to answer, the door to the cafe opens. In walks a broad shouldered man, the collar of his jacket pulled upwards and a duffle hanging from his shoulder. Grey hairs poked from the deep brown hair on the man's head. He looked oddly familiar.

"I'm looking for Dean? Dean Winchester?"

"Who's asking?" Benny quirked his eyebrows, Dean’s eyes went from Castiel’s and over to the back of the man asking for him.

"I'm his father."

Chapter Text

When you came to me with your bad dreams and your fears

It was easy to see that you'd been crying

Seems like everywhere you turn, catastrophe it reigns

But who really profits from the dying

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

Ray LaMontagne - Hold You in My Arms

Part Two

Castiel had never seen someone turn pale so quickly, nor had he ever seen eyes get so wide with fear. It scared him. Dean sat stalk still in his seat, his hands gripping the table, surely leaving finger dents in the wood, and he almost resembled a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"Dean?" He questioned tentatively. Dean didn't respond.

When John Winchester turned around, Castiel felt a chill rise from the very bottoms of his feet to the very end nine of his spine. The resemblance was unmistakable, from the scruff around his jaw to shape of his nose. It was as if Castiel were looking at a makeshift version of Dean in maybe twenty more years.

"Son.."

The older Winchester wore a look that Castiel couldn't quite place, and his shoulders straightened up. His brown eyes only glanced at Castiel before returning to Dean's bright greens.

John took a step forward.

The next minute would be something Castiel would never forget.

Dean, wide eyed and shaking in his clothes, began to shake his head. His long legs stumbled and fidget from under the table as he stood and backed himself towards the back wall, tripping over each other in a frantic fashion. Benny was screaming something at the man, gripping him by the sleeve of his shirt, and Jo was just rounding the corner to see what was going on.

"Sir, ya need to leave!" Benny was attempting to hold John back.

"Dammit, that's my son! I just want to talk to my son!" John bellowed, ripping his arm from Benny's grip.

John stumbled back, turning his head in all directions until he spotted Dean again, crouching on the floor with wide eyes on his father. He bounded towards Dean and Benny began to jump over the counter. Before he could get close enough, Castiel scrambled from his seat, finding himself standing in front of the hunched and curled up man on the floor, shoulders set back and legs unwavering.

John seethed, "Move."

Castiel didn't move. His eyes were cold, face flushed of all emotion and set on John's dark ones. He was not going to move. John faltered for a minute, a look of mild fear crossing his features, but he regained his posture. He lifted an fisted hand to swing at Castiel. Then, Benny had his arms around John, pulling him back towards the counter and dodging the hits of the older man.

"Castiel, I need you to get Dean out of here," Benny struggled, pulling the fighting a Winchester towards the back room.

Quickly, Castiel crouched in front of the shaking man, slightly distressed by the rapid change of atmosphere, but swallowing it down quickly. He found his hands resting on his lap and deep breaths running steadily through his nose. Dean's breathing was erratic and he rocked back and forth with his hands over his head, shaking all over, legs pulled close to his chest and all but his brown hair hidden away from the man’s eyes.

"Dean," he said calmly, "Dean, I need you to listen to me, alright?"

Behind Castiel, Jo was clearing the coffee shop, directing the few people inside to the door and pulling a bat from under the counter. She charged towards the back room, where shuffling and distasteful words could be heard being thrown.

"Dean, I need to get you out of here. I know this will be difficult, but I need you to try and bring yourself back."

Dean kept shaking. Castiel continued.

"Think of something that makes you happy, something strong and positive this time, and breathe with me if you can, alright?"

From under his arms, Castiel thought he saw the man shake his head. Castiel began to breathe deeply and slowly, hoping Dean would catch on and calm down just enough for him to bring him outside. He watched his friend sit still, no longer rocking back and forth, and his tense shoulders slumped. Dean's shaking came to a minimum quiver, and his head peaked out from under his arms, staring at Castiel with wide, watery green eyes.

"May I touch you?"

Dean's eyes looked to him wearily, holding his gaze for a few seconds, and shook his head in affirmation. Castiel steadily reached his arms over to Dean and lay his hands on his biceps, helping him get to his feet. Because Dean's legs shook under his weight and his knees gave out a few times as they walked towards the door, Castiel thought it best to let the taller man lean majority of his weight onto him. As they got closer to the door, Castiel realized that John was still in the back room, demanding that Benny move out of his way and screaming obscene insults towards Jo, who stood behind the counter with a phone to her ear. Dean's shaking increased, and Castiel rushed him out of the door.

"Do you have a car?"

In the midst of shaking, Dean shook his head and fumbled with his pocket for a few seconds. Instead, Castiel quickly reached into the man's pocket and pulled out the set of keys. Dean pointed a shaky finger towards the black car in front of the cafe and Castiel lead him towards it.

"I am going to take you home," Castiel said firmly, unlocking the door of the passenger side and leading Dean into the seat. "Can you tell me where that is?"

Dean's eyes were now glazed over with tears and his body was back to shaking erratically, face drained of all of its color and knuckles curled tightly into fists, white around the blue of his veins.

Castiel rounded the car and seated himself in the passenger seat. He looked around the back seat and spotted an Army blanket peaking out from under the seat, grabbing it and draping it over Dean's body. With the key in the ignition, he started the car and turned to Dean with earnest eyes.

"I am going to take you to my home."

--

The ride to Castiel’s building was, to say the least, quiet. Dean’s eyes were tiredly planted on his hands, fiddling with them a few times, flexing and curling them into his palm from time to time. Castiel found that the radio, which played an upbeat song that he did not know, helped Dean relax. He was no longer shaking as hard as before, and there was some color returning to his cheeks, but Castiel knew for a fact that the man was not okay.

Once they are inside of his apartment, Castiel immediately remembers Gabriel’s presence. The scent of vanilla seeps in from the kitchen, and Castiel groans inwardly. However, loud music is playing and Gabriel seemed to not have notice his presence, continuing to sing horridly over the music. Midnight came running into the room, placing her legs on Castiel's thighs and barking. After receiving a pet from Castiel, the dog looked to Dean. She whined lowly, licking at his shaking hand and adjusting her head to hold Dean's scarred hand atop her head.

“My brother is home. I apologize.”

Dean’s mouth quirked and he gave a slight shake of his head. It’s alright.

“He is undoubtedly making a mess in my kitchen. I am going to order something for us to eat in the meantime..is there anything that I can do for you?”

Castiel watched as the man shrugged his shoulders, running veined hands over his face and then through his hair. His freckles stood out against his skin, looking orange against the paper white, damp skin. He looked conflicted.

“We do not need to discuss the previous events, if that is what is bothering.”

Dean shook his head again and ran a hand over his face. His eyes were drooping and red rimmed, his face flushing all color again, and he took a shaky breath.

“You may sleep in my room.”

Dean jerked his head back, face scrunched in disagreement.

“You are tired,” Castiel quipped, “and the sleep will do you more good than harm. I will show you my room.”

The taller man stared at Castiel, unmoving and ready to fight, until his shoulders slumped again. All he could do was follow Castiel down his hallway.

Pushing the door open and turning on the light, Castiel let Dean through his door. His room wasn’t much, he thought. A king sized bed sat in the middle of his room, black sheets rumpled across the surface and pillows dented from his head. The walls were painted white, and miscellaneous paintings hung all around, most from Anna and few from other artists. A larger closet door remained open, revealing lines and lines of clothes.

Dean looked around for a second before looking to Castiel with unsure eyes.

“I insist,” he urges. “Make yourself at home. I’ll wake you when the food arrives.”

The taller man thrusts his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone and tapping something out.

Thank you.

Castiel nods his head, “Is there anyone you’d like me to call?”

Dean blinks tiredly, pulling his phone back and typing something out.

No. But Sam might call.

“Would you like me to hold your phone?”

Dean shook his head yes. Castiel pushed the cell phone into his pocket .

“I will be right out there, should you need anything. Make yourself at home.”

With that and a small smile, Castiel left the room.

--

In the midst of writing on the couch, legs stretched across and holding his laptop on his lap, Castiel fell asleep. He had already been used to Gabriel's loud, obnoxious music, and could sleep through it easily.

However, what he did not expect was to find Gabriel standing over him, arms crossed, face pulled into a smug smile, and eyebrows wiggling provocatively. Castiel blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, and then threw his head back against the couch cushion.

"Gabriel, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out whether or not you and the walking sex over in your room fucked while I was baking."

"Gabriel," Castiel groaned, stretching his limbs out, then closing his lapto p and placing it on the coffee table. "We are not and have not had sexual intercourse."

"Then why is Adonis in your bed, sleeping like the ruffled beauty he is?"

Castiel stood from the couch,

"His name is Dean Winchester and he has had a...trying day, for lack of a better word. Did the food arrive?"

Gabriel pointed to kitchen, "I put it on the counter. Is there anything in there for me?"

"Yes. I got your usual."

Gabriel blinked at him. Castiel furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?"

"I haven't been around for 10 years, and you still remember my usual?"

Castiel fell silent. He hadn't thought about it when he ordered from the quaint Chinesse restraunt. He simply ordered for himself and Gabriel automatically and only stopped to think of what Dean would like. Awkwardly, the man shifted on his feet, scratching at the scruff on his chin and looking to the ground.

"I never forgot, I assume."

Gabriel hiccuped dramatically, wiping imaginary tears from his face and throwing his arms around his younger brother. Castiel, completely caught off guard, grunted unenthusiastically, letting the shorter man hold him tight. When he pulled away, Gabriel wore a kind half of a smile and pat his brother's shoulder.

"By the way, this phone's been ringing for a while. I didn't answer, but you should call back or something. They called like...four times."

Castiel nodded his head, turning from his brother and going into the recent call logs. Sam's name is listed a few times, red in contrast to the black letters of answered calls. Before he could even dial, the phone begins to ring, showing a small picture next to 'Sammy.' He presses the green answer button.

"Hello?"

"Is this Castiel? Where's my brother? Is he alright?" Sam said this frantically, and Castiel could imagine the boy running fingers through his long hair, or taking long strides as he paced wherever he was.

"Sam-"

"Why hasn't anyone picked up?" He suddenly sounded angry. "I called four times! It's been two hours! What the hell are you doing to my brother?"

"Sam, you need to-"

"If you tell me to calm down," Sam seethed, "so help me God, I will break your legs. Where is Dean? Tell me now."

"I would be able to ease your mind of a bit worry if you would just give me a chance to speak," Castiel spoke evenly.

From the other end, he could hear Sam take slow, calm breaths. Then, he sighed and muttered an apology.

"Dean is here in my home. After what happened, he was unable to tell me where he loved. He should be asleep right now, but I am going to wake him up for food."

Sam released a long sigh, and his voice broke as he spoke.

"So it's true? My d..John's back?"

"I am afraid so."

The line fell silent, but he could hear Sam whispering something to someone. The line shuffled, and Castiel could here the jingling of keys.

"Is Dean alright?"

"He seemed very shaken up and tired." Castiel hesitated. "I do not mean to pry but...but what has John done to Dean to cause him to react the way he did?"

"Wait, you don't don't know?"

"No, but it feel that's it's Dean's choice whether or not to let me know that part of his life. I just..This seemed important to know."

Sam fell quiet again.

"Of course," Castiel began, "it is absolutely none of my business."

"From what I know, my da..John isn't exactly someone wh..he's bad, Castiel. Really bad. After him and my mom divorced, he went on an alcohol binge and he did some really bad things and...and he ended up trading Dean for a bottle of scotch."

Castiel took in an involuntary breath of air. That..that was inhumane....how...

"That's all that I can tell you. He was gone for about six years," Sam's broken voice made Castiel's chest hurt. "Whatever happened was really bad. This is all really bad and I don't know how to handle this."

"Sam," Castiel spoke. "What we need to worry about for now is Dean. Just Dean."

"Y-Yeah. We do. What is the address?"

Once Castiel spoke out the address hung up, he took a moment to wrap his head around things. Dean was, in some shape or form, was abused and by his own father. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. And that same person showed up today, and Dean lost it. Castiel couldn't imagine his father, with the little time he actually was around, ever wanting to hurt him. He could only imagine what Dean had

When he looked up to the door, he caught a shock of green and jumped back a little bit.mdean stood with his arms hanging at his sides, hair ruffled and disheveled in all directions, eyes drooping from sleep, and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. The begins of black swirls poked out from the opening, but Castiel managed to keep his eyes on his. If he wanted Castiel to know about his tattoos, he'd have told him about them.

Dean's eyes look over him, squaring him up and smirking a little, and he leaned against the doorway of Castiel's room. Castiel felt his cheeks flare up, gulping down the nervousness and want that pooled in his stomach, and he averted his eyes to his bare, pale feet. He wasn't imagining the want in Dean's eyes, however he couldn't get his hopes too high. Dean was flirtatious and charming. If he even flew that way, Castiel would probably be the last person he'd want.

He sighed and looked back at Dean with a small smile.

"I was just coming to wake you. I..I hope your nap helped you."

As if remembering the reason why he was there in the first place, Dean's smirk fell a little, his shoulders slouching forward in defeat. He nodded his head and ran a hand through his messy brown hair. Castiel pushed his hand out forward with Dean's cellphone in his hand.

"Your brother called. He, er, told me something that I think we should discuss," Castiel said carefully.

At this, Dean's eyes filled with panic, fear, and something Castiel couldn't quite place. His freckles stood out more against his flushing face. Quickly, Castiel spoke.

"He did not go into details. He simply told me what was neccassary to know so that I could understand why the events that took place at the coffee shop happened to begin with," the man paused. "He only told me about your rocky relationship with your father."

The emerald eyed man was quiet, and his face was pulled into something Castiel assumed was a look of thought. Castiel felt guilty.

"I did not mean pry, Dean. I apologize."

With a look, Dean began to type something out on his phone. He then handed it to Castiel.

Cas, it's alright. You're my friend and some of this was bound to get out. I should have told you, but I was and still am too scared of you knowing. I don't wanna be judged. There's just too much...

"I would never judged you," Castiel affirmed, tilting his head. Then he chuckled, "I, of all people, have no place to judge. You are safe around me, I could almost say."

The corners of Dean's lips tugged upwards and Castiel's heart warmed at the sight. The crinkles by Dean's appeared, making him look old and young at the same time, and Castiel so badly wanted to kisses them. He kicked himself internally.

A dull sounding rumble interrupted his thoughts, his eyes flying to Dean who stood with a bashful look, eyes gleaming in the dull light of the hallway.

"My apologies. You must be hungry. The food came, however I was asleep."

He began to lead him in the direction of the living room, praying silently that Gabriel would either be in his room or in the kitchen. He was standing in the living room near the doorway to the kitchen, a large, cheesy smile stretched across his face and a carton tray in hand.

"Huba huba," Gabriel whistled, wiggling his eyebrows in a provactive matter. "Castiel needs to bring his friends over more often. Especially if they're this...yummy."

Castiel watched Dean inch closer to him, towering over and behind him with a look that could be placed between fear and utter disgust. Castiel sighed.

"Dean, this is my overbearing and harmless brother, Gabriel."

"You forgot available," Gabriel chided, leaning against the door and taking a fork full of rice to his mouth.

"Jesus," Castiel rubbed at his forehead.

"Now, Castiel," the older man tsked, "I told you to call me Gabriel and no worries, man candy, I am completely straight...I think."

Dean chuckled lowly, and Castiel let his shoulders relax.a knock sounded at the door. He ducked into the kitchen, Dean in tow, and began to pull the carton boxes from then bag. The bloodhound came trotting into the room, tongue hanging from her mouth as she darted for Dean. With a wide smile, Dean rubbed at Modnights head and allowed her to lick his hand.

"I hope you like pork fried rice," he muttered as handed Dean a fork and spoon.

But Dean wasn't paying attention to him. His eyes were wide with long, head turned in the direction of the counter.

"Pie."

Three pies sat on the counter, smoke silking from the crust, and Dean licked his lips. Gabriel smiled and walked towards the counter.

"I made these earlier. You can have as much as you want. Apple, raspberry, and blueberry," he pointed. "They usually go to waste because bozo over here doesn't eat them much."

Dean gave Castiel a horrified look as he took his food from the man. He smiled shyly and shrugged, and Dean tipped his head a little. He wasn't much of a pie person.

A knock sounded and interrupted their silent conversation.

"I'll get the door," Gabriel left the kitchen.

Both Castiel and Dean followed him, food in hand, sitting on the mushy couch and

"Dean?"

Castiel looked up, seeing the taller of the Winchesters standing at the door. Immediately, he bounded over to Dean, stopping short for a minute, hesitant, before shaking his head and wrapping his long arms around him. Dean's face adapted a softened to a wounded expression, and he hugged his brother back. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, one Castiel would chuckle at if the situation had not been so serious.

"Who is that?"

"His brother," Castiel responded to his brother quietly.

"So the entire family is just walking sex?"

--

Sam joined them for their sort of,not so really lunch. Of course, Gabriel and Castiel left the room to attend to other things and leave the brothers to talk. When Castiel deemed the timing appropriate, he let his sandy haired brother bring out food to Sam, who sat with watery eyes.

"Can't have Mr. Sex on Legs 2.0 starving to death," Gabriel smiled, to which Dean laughed and Sam gifted him with a look that Dean later referred to as 'Ultimate Bitch Face.'

After finishing off their food and stepping out in the midst a heated argument, one pertaining to the amount of sugar Gabriel bragged about being able to eat to a certain health junky named Sam Winchester, they decided to go for a walk around the block. Midnight barked happily one the leash in Dean's hand, licking the man a few times to show her thanks and walking ahead of them.

The silence was comfortable, and Castiel felt the stresses of the day ease out of his bones, relaxing his body and slipping into a more relaxed posture. Dean's phone was put in his hands.

No offense, but your apartment is crap.

"I know," Castiel remarked, "but it was the only one I could offered at the time. I'm hoping to move soon."

I could help you with that. Benny's moving out of his place pretty soon, and the rent asks for a decent amount.

"I need to find a job first," he laughed. Dean gave him a questioning look.

"I have never worked."

Dean gave him a bewildered look, putting his arm out in front or the man and typing away quickly.

You've never had a job? What the hell? How the hell can you afford anything?

Castiel sighed, "inheratence. Also, I was able to smuggle

Hmm. I forgot you were the son of the owners of the multibillion dollar company, NEH, Inc. how does one forget that?

When Castiel looked at Dean, he had a smile on his face, one filled with mirth and something pleasent that made his stomach flutter nervously. Castiel chuckled, hoping the feeling below would go away.

"I have a large amount of money left, but I have become too accustomed to pulling out my credit card or check book for everything I buy."

Dean's eyebrows rose.

"Except coffee and scones. I am not a lavish spender, but I would like to rely on myself rather than my parents money."

You want independence. That's understandable.

"Yes. Also, I am no longer in the wretched state or situation that I was in before, so there is no reason for me to avoid working."

There's an opening at the library. They need someone to do the book keeping. It doesn't pay too much, I heard, but it's a start.

"I have lived here for three and a half years," Castiel smiled, "yet, I only know a handful of people. "

I've lived here five. I don't interact much, as you can see, but most of the people I know are through Sammy, Benny, and my mom.

"Where did you live before?"

Let's not talk about that.

Castiel paused, "my apologies."

They turned the corner, seperating when a woman with a child walked between them. Midnight barked, stopping at a tree and lifting her leg.

"I do not mean to darken the mood," Castiel mumbled softly, "but how are we going to handle your father?"

The man sighed. A hand rubbed at the back of his neck, his phone I the hand that held the leash, and closed his eyes. He looked at Castiel and shook his head, and Dean could see the fear, the anxiety in the man's eyes. It made Castiel sad.

I don't even know, man. All I can hope is that he leaves town. He was never the kind to stay in one place for too long and I don't think that's changed.

"Do you have any idea as to why he's returned?"

Not a clue, but it can't be good.

Silence fell over them again.

"Must I constantly remind you of our friendship, Dean Winchester?" He spoke with a seriousness in his voice. "I will not let you handle this alone."

Dean frowned.

"It is not out of pity. I would like to think that you would do the same for me, had the tables turned. If not I, then Benny or Jo."

The green eyed man looked away with consideration. They continued to walk in silence, only their foot steps being heard against the concrete sunset and the twittering of the birds in the afternoon sky. Then, Dean typed something out slowly, handing the phone to Castiel and then pushing his hand into his pocket.

If the tables were turned, I'd do the same for you. No questions asked.

Chapter Text

And with words unspoken

A silent devotion

I know you know what I mean

And the end is unknown

But I think I'm ready

As long as you're with me

The xx - Angels

January came close to it's end with a series of snowstorms, not that Dean minded it much. The cold felt much better than the heat. With his jacket tugged high and his face buried deep beneath the zipper, Dean approached the coffee shop. His hand clenched around the car key, the other hand pushing the door open. The warmth of the coffee shop was welcomed, Dean's cheeks flushing and his hands tingling at the feeling of heat, but before he could unzip his jacket, Benny was rounding the counter.

"Not s'posed to be in here today."

Dean gave him a questioning look.

"Jo was supposed to tell you, but Bobby put you on temporary leave."

Dean gave him a look.

"Look, before you get your head all twisted with shit just-"

But Dean pushed past him, heading to the back room and spotting Jo immediately. She stood near the shelves, taking inventory of the tea bags, and turned in the direction of a fuming Dean. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her jaw set, and Dean knew he was in for it.

With a tinge of anger in her voice, she said, "John Winchester has been back at this shop almost every single day, and I'll be damned if I let you go through that again."

His gaze was hard on the blonde's face, but he physically cringed at the name of his father. After the incident, the Winchester was given a few off in case the John returned. His stomach tightened.

"And yes, I told Bobby. Hell, he knew before me!" Jo waved her hand and let the clipboard fall to her side. "He was pissed, Dean. And the police ain't doin' a thing. They can't arrest him on anything because his records haven't been transferred over here, and the most we're allowed to do is tell him to get out."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his scarred hands covered his face in anguish. His heart sped up in his chest, and Dean took a long breath. Fucking hell. That's what this was starting to feel like.

"Dean, what happened?" Jo's question broke the short silence.

"Jo, now's not the time," Benny warned, shaking his head.

"When will there ever be a time?"

Dean was already on his way out. His hands hastily pulled at his collar as he hit the icy breeze. The snow was already sticking, and the wind picked up. When he reached his car, he put the keys in the door and swung it open, almost hitting an unnoticed Benny in the groin.

"Whoa," he exclaimed, taking a quick step away, looking at Dean with exasperated, brown eyes. "I'd like t'keep my junk."

Dean gave him a look. The man sighed.

"Can we sit and talk for a minute?"

His green eyes looked at Benny's gruff figure. His shoulders were relaxed, and the snow that swirled around in the air caught in his hair. It was cold out. He unlocked the door and got in.

Dean started up the car and turned the heat on. Benny sank into the leather seats and whistled lowly.

"Are these new?" He questioned as he pointed towards the chair.

He huffed out at the pointed look he received from Dean.

"Jo's just worried. Y'know how she is."

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes and looking out of his window.

"'m serious. Y'know she cares. You've known each other since...what? Diaper years? Didn't she beat your ass when you guys were kids?"

With a chuckle, Dean shook his head in affirmation. She beat his ass a whole lot of times, the last being the most memorable. It was around the time when things between Mary and John were starting to get rocky, Sam and Dean went over to the Harvelle's place for Christmas. Dean hid all of Jo's presents and claimed that he burned them. For a five year old, she had a pretty lethal roundhouse and a mean kick.

Dean chuckled again, remembering the tears that ran down his 9 year old face.

"And if I remember the stories correctly, she was your partner in crime, too."

Jo was, in fact, his partner in crime. They were the best of friends, attached at the hip. They went to school together and they terrorized their classmates with their pranks to the point where the two of them were told to be separated.

Jo was just like Dean. She was tough, stubborn, and just as protective as he was. So of course, he knew almost everything about her. He knew when she was angry, and he knew when she was hiding. After Jo's mom suddenly died before Jo turned 7, Dean was pretty much all she had left. His mother adopted her, and the day she moved in, fists curled tightly around. Her little Indian Jones luggage and her face set in stone, Dean only hugged her. He hugged her for a long time, and when she finally cracked, he only said, "You don't gotta be tough all the time, Jo."

Jo was his sister.

"Yeah," Dean muttered aloud.

"Then you of all people should know Jo. You two are practically family. She just isn't sure how to show it. It's harder for her to watch you go through what you're going through," Benny looked at him with warm eyes. "It's hard on all of us, Dean."

Dean lowered his head against the wheel, cheeks flushed and teeth clenched in an affronted manner, blood boiling and his mind racing with loathe some feelings held only for himself. It would've been much easier if Alastair had just killed him. No one would have the issues they were having now, communicating and having to go a long way just to make sure Dean was comfortable.

A fucking burden. That's what he was.

Probably why John traded him off, right?

A chill ran up his back and through his entire body, and it was not from the cold. Benny shifted the conversation.

"It's s'pposed to be white hell out there all day," Benny chuckles. "You should probably head home."

Dean lifts his head, looking to Benny with kind eyes, and he gave him a firm pat to his shoulder. Benny opened the door.

"Alright, Dean," he said with a nod, shutting the door.

Dean now sat alone in his car. With nothing to do, he decided to give his mother a visit. Buckling himself in, Dean shifted the car from park and drive, ready to drive off until he spotted a tan coat through the sprinkled snowflakes. He honked the horn of his car, and Castiel turned in his direction. Castiel, in all of his snow covered glory, squinted his eyes adorably. Dean swallowed as he approached. A small part of him regretted this.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted him.

Dean inclined his head at him, lifting an eyebrow at him and then glancing at his messenger bag.

"I have a test coming up, and I would like to get as much studying in as possible. However, with Gabriel being himself," Castiel sighed, "it is a trying task."

Dean glanced outside of the window and stared worryingly at the snow.

"I brought my car this time. I should only be here for a few hours, Mother Hen."

At this, Dean turns his head and glares at a grinning Castiel. His hair is dotted with flecks of snow, his scarf tied snugly around his neck, his hands tucked into the tan coat. He smiled back, but looked seriously into Castiel's eyes.

"Safe," he said in his rarely used voice.

"Yes," Cas gave Dean a final nod. "I will stop by if the storm intensifies."

Dean gave him a reassuring smile, allowing Cas to move away from the car.

The hair got him every time. Actually, it was everything, really. It was the way he walked with a mission, yet shy and sure in every step. Dean pulled the car into the parking lot and shifted it to P, turning his car off. It was the way he spoke, as if he had smoked more than cigerette in his younger years. It did things to him. Dean groaned and let his head hit the cushioned head rest. It was as if the sexy, yet awkward man wanted to kill him.

He remembered the grin on his face, bright and gummy, framed by his plump lips, and Dean sunk deeper into his seat, feeling heat rise to his cheek. Dean was in deep.

It was fucking 10 degrees outside. He was not doing this here.

With hands pushed into his pocket, tugging his jacket lower to hide the hill in his pants, the flustered man ran into the back door of his building, slamming the open door shut once he was inside. He kept his head low, avoiding eye contact with his passing neighbors as he sped walk through the building. At least people would blame the coloring of his cheeks on the weather.

He fumbled with his keys and his phone, which vibrated once.

Sasquatch (9:41 AM) Stuck in the storm. Staying at Victor's.

Dean tapped out a short response, opening the door and and entering his apartment. As he kicked off his shoes, he shrugged off his jacket and three it across the couch. He yawned.

Might as well take a nap.

--

Dean grumbled lowly, tugging the plush comforter over his head and snuggling deeper into his bed. His legs tangled with his bed sheets, his hair was disheveled, and he wanted to go back to sleep. Just for two more minutes...or hours. However, the constant buzzing of his phone woke him up, indicating that he received more than one text message. His phone vibrated again, and this time, he picked up the phone to check the messages. He huffed.

Cas (3:45 PM)Gyhhgtthg

Cas (3:52 PM) Gfjngubuibgunhujbi

Cas (4:09 PM) Jjjkjgttil9

Eyebrows furrowed, Dean stared at the texts. What the hell? Then, he shrugged. Maybe he butt texted.

He startled at the sudden blare of 'Whole Lotta Love' next to his ear.

Cas. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at the name in wonder. He would have assumed by now that Castiel knew he wasn't much of a...talker. Then again, Castiel only ever texted Dean and left voicemails for things that were too long for text. He'd usually warn him first. Maybe he forgot?

Dean shrugged and let his phone ring, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling he got in his gut. Stretching his legs, he got up from his bed and left his room, heading to his bathroom

When he returned, there were two missed calls, two voicemails, and four texts. Something was definitely wrong.

Opening the texts, Dean grunted in confusion. The texts didn't quite make sense, but he decided the voicemails would give him a bit more clarity. He pressed the number one and put it to his ear.

"Hey Dean," Sam's voiced huff through, "just in case you didn't get my text, I'm staying at Victor's tonight. It's supposed to be really bad out, so don't do anything stupid. Keep warm."

There was a beep, then the next message started with labored breathing and what sounded like...chattering teeth?

"Dea-Dean. I-..my car it..ah." Castiel breathed, cursing under his breath. "M-my phone is...d-d-dying and the car won't st-start."

He hung up, and the phone shook in his hand. The voicemail was left around eleven. Dean called him, a sick feeling swirling in his stomach and gripping fiercely at his insides.

It rang three times before a low, heavy voice muttered, "H-Hello?"

"Cas," he sighed in relief, rubbing a voice over his face.

"I-it wouldn't tr-ouble you too much to," Castiel stuttered out and then breathed. "Come get me?

"Where?"

"D-d-down your street, near the law firm."

Quickly, Dean grabbed his jacket and went down the stairs by twos. His keys were gripped firmly in his hands, and he pulled the door open. He was greeted by a fierce wind laced with snow and ice, automatically stepping back from the door and covering his face. Peeking through his hands, he could see the wind was not as fierce as he thought it was, the the streets were beginning to pile up with snow. Dammit. He had to be quick.

Gritting his teeth, the man ran straight to the black classic, keys ready to open the door and jacket zipped up to his mouth. He pulled the door open and shut it as soon as he was seated in the drivers seat. The keys met the ignition, and the car revved to life despite the cold weather. Carefully, Dean backed out of the building's parking lot and sped down his empty street.

Through the swirling snowflakes, he could see the hideous red car. The hood was piled with at least four inches of snow, and Dean cursed under his breath at the frost fogged windows. Hastily, he got out of his own car and slammed the door shut, jogging over to Castiel's side. When he opened the door, the driver's side was empty, aside from the man’s messenger bag that Dean grabbed. Castiel's car felt cold, and Dean cursed as he pulled out his phone. When he called, it went straight to voicemail.

"Cas!" Dean's voice rang out through the swirling blizzard. No response came.

Dammit.

Dean got back in his car, shifted the car from park to drive, and drove slow. Castiel probably started walking. Dumbass.

--

"Cas!" Dean roared, emerging from his car, approaching the shaking lump on running limbs. Discarding his jacket from his shoulders, Dean wrapped Castiel in the warm leather. Castiel was hurtled up against the wall of Dean's building with his legs pulled to his chats and his head buried deep into his knees, shivering and teeth chattering from the cold. His trench coat was wet and hard with melted and iced snow.

"C'mon," Dean breathed, pulling Castiel to his feet and holding him close. The man's body shook violently against his own, and his eyes were half way closed. His face was flushed white, almost blue, and his blue, chapped lips moved rapidly.

Castiel slurred out as he stumbled through the building door against Dean. "So cold."

Dean hushed him, wrapping his arm tighter and lifting him. He was not a light person, Dean realized, but he wasn't heavy either. Castiel fought against him, throwing weak punches, fussing under his hold, mumbling and slurring something along the lines of 'get off of me.' Something like that. Dean only held tighter, taking the stairs by twos and fumbling with the keys to his apartment.

Fuck, Cas felt cold.

As soon as he came through his door, Dean adjusted the thermostat and kicked the door shut. Castiel slumped against him, breathing low and slowly against Dean. Quickly kicking his shoes off and pulling off Castiel's, he half carried the shivering man to his room. He wrapped callused fingers around his wrist, two fingers pressed against the insides of his wrist, Dean felt the sluggish pulse under his touch and winced. That couldn’t be good.

As Castiel sat with his body hunched forward on Dean's bed, Dean began to undress him. Castiel was in the snow for what seemed to be thirty minutes, which was enough time for it to melt and seep through his clothes. Dean threw the soaked trench coat across the room, then Castiel's green sweater, and then his pants. Cas shook even more, left only in his boxers and moist socks. He pulled off his wet socks before he began to undress himself.

Then, Dean did something, something he'd wished to do a while ago, but under different circumstances. He pulled the covers back, pushed Castiel towards the bed, and climbed in next to him.

Castiel stared at him, blue eyes wide at the sudden warmth, moving in closer to the Dean's body and nesting his face into his neck. Gulping, Dean blinked a few times and finally closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Cas' body was cold against his, almost an ice cube. His legs curled up and his feet touched Dean's legs. His stubbly chin tickled his neck, and his arms tangled around Dean's scarred body. Dean pulled a blanket over them and held his shaking body closer to his. He hadn't been this close to another body in a very long time. Castiel only snuggled closer, gripping at Dean as if he was the best thing he'd ever touch. He sighed shakily into the men's chest and let his body shiver erratically. Dean held the man in a tight grip.

"Warm," is all he muttered through chattering teeth.

Dean looked at the shock of black hair that snuggled into his chest, the cold contact raising goosebumps across his arms and shoulders, or so Dean would claim if accused otherwise.

From that point, Castiel fell in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently, pulling closer to Dean. By eight that evening, the sky outside obtained its darkness, and Castiel seemed to have improved. His skin was still cold, but it no longer looked blue, and that was an improvement. He was out cold, and his face was flushed a pink color, which Dean was glad for. Dean checked his pulse, feeling relief when he felt the formerly slow pace thump at a normal pace.

Dean stood and walked over to the small closet at the edge of his hallway. He pulled an extra blanket from it, tossing it over the shivering lump on his bed.

Cas' clothes were still on the floor, soaked through with snow and in need of a wash. With the wet clothes bundled up under his bare arms, Dean walked out of his room again, his hands found a pair of pants strewn across the couch. As he pushed his legs through, he walked into the washroom, lifting the detergent bottle, placing it atop the drying machine, and patting the wet clothes down for any forgotten items. Castiel's phone and keys fell from a pocket, and Dean tossed the clothes into the washing machine before pouring a cup of detergent. When he heard the water run, he walked to the kitchen,

Dean huffed. Castiel would be the death of him, Dean thought sullenly as he pulled a pot from under his sink. The man walked in 10 degree weather after being in his car for God knows how long, and if Dean hadn't found him when he did, he would have died. Dean huffed again. He pulled a few water bottles from the inside of one of the cabinets, placing three into the microwave and setting it to two minutes. As he pulled a few vegetables from the fridge and chopped them for the soup, he remembered that he was still shirtless.

A lump rose in his throat. Castiel wouldn't remember the tattoos, or the scars...right? He was too delirious to remember, Dean hoped.

The broth of the soup was poured into a bowl, balanced on a tray next to the hot water bottles.. He figured he'd warm Castiel's outsides, and if he could get Castiel coherent enough, his insides. The smaller man was huddled below the layered blankets, sick looking and still shivering. As Dean settled the tray down on the nightstand, he could here soft mumbling from the unconscious man.

"Must find.." Castiel muttered this a few times.

Dean attempted to wake Castiel with a soft shake, earning a jerk and a rushing hand in response. Dean froze, watching as blue eyes opened and closed.

"Stop," Castiel pushed at him, his eyes closed now. "Must find Dean."

Cas pushed at Dean, weak and uncoordinated, and Dean felt lost. His friend was delirious, and he didn't know what to do. He needed to get his attention.

Dean would have to really speak.

He didn't want to, but he would have to.

A shaky sigh slipped past Dean's lips, and he opened his mouth.

"I..I'm here, Cas," he struggled. "I'm here." Dean repeated this a few times until the paler of the two stopped, now slumped against the bedpost.

Castiel's eyes opened, slow, unfocused, and very red, drooping and closing a few times.

"Eat."

Castiel blinked, and Dean brought the spoon up to his chapped lips. Blues eyes looked to the spoon for a second, considering, before he opened his mouth.

--

Pulling the door behind him, Dean left his room with a snug, sleeping Castiel in it. He hoped that the knit sweater and the soft sweatpants would be enough to keep him warm. He crossed over to the thermostat and turned it down a few notches, feeling hot and sticky in the too confined heat. A window would have to be cracked open later. With his own sleeping clothes in his hands, he wandered into the bathroom for a quick shower.

As the shower head released the warm water, Dean stood in front of the foggy mirror. A callused hand swiped the mist from the surface, and Dean stared. The black ink against his skin swirled around his shoulders, licked at his neck, covered parts of his chest and back, but the scars were there. The scars were raised, smoother than the little unharmed skin left, and begged for his attention. Freckles sprinkled across his shoulders and chest and arms, and Dean truly hated his body. He hated what Alastair did to him with his ‘toys’, he hated what Alastair did to his mind, and he hated Alastair, but he hated himself much more than he could ever hate Alastair. his dad was here to remind him of the hate he harbored for himself. There was no escaping that.

Dean felt his heart pick up its pace, and his hands shook at his sides. He felt his mind cloud with a dark, twisted memories, and quickly gripped the sides of the porcelain sink. As he squeezed, he could feel the edges of the dark his memories fade, and all he could see was the plug of the sink. He’d focus on the. The little silver plug is what he’d focus on.

As his breathing and heartbeat evened out, the weight in his chest felt as if it were lifted and he relaxed. The grip that he had on the sink loosened. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, the fog in the bathroom swirled around the bathroom. He got in the shower.

 

Once he finished his shower, he put his clothes on and left the bathroom, grabbing an extra blanket from the closet and dropping it on to the couch. Maybe he could check on Cas one last time before he went to bed.

His bare feet padded against the wooden planks of the hall, and he opened the door to his room. Quietly, he approached the bed where the paler man lay. Castiel was on his side, snuggled under two layers of blankets with only his head poking out. He shivered a little, but was nevertheless asleep. He looked small, fragile almost.

Without thinking, Dean’s hand went to Castiel’s cheek. His skin was still a little cold under the back of his hand, but it didn’t feel like ice anymore. His face was soft, comforting. His backhand glided against Castiel’s cheek before turning over and cradling his jaw in his palm, and Castiel did something he didn’t expect. The man snuggled into his touch, breathing out and causing Dean to freeze up in shock. Then, he sighed. Dean heart thumped in his chest.

“Dean,” Castiel muttered out in his sleep laced, gravelled voice.

Dean stared down at him. The corners of his lips twitched, but he moved his hands. As he backed up from the sleeping man, he pulled the blanket a little higher, turned off the lamp, and left the room.

As Dean settled into the couch, the blanket pulled up to his abdomen and his hands resting on either sides of his pillows and under his head, he thought of Castiel. He always thought of Castiel. He thought of the shy man’s love for books, or the small twitch his eyes often did when he was confused or felt challenged. But tonight, Dean thought of Castiel’s near death experience. The fact that the other man could have died this evening scared Dean and left him with a small sinking feeling. He’d never seen skin so pale that it turned blue, or felt a heart beat so slow and sluggish.

Well, he’s safe with you now, Dean thought

Dean breathed out. He needed sleep.

Chapter Text

I want this,

A confusing happiness,

Never knowing what comes next.

I want this,

All the agony and bliss,

From confusing happiness.

Lo-Fabg - Confusing Happiness

Sleeping was something of a challenge for Dean most nights. With the possibility of a nightmare and an anxiety attack once he woke up, Dean often lay awake for hours before he dozed off. Four hours was always enough for him. He didn't like to take the sleeping pills his doctor tried to prescribe to him. They somehow always did more harm than good.

Yet, this morning, he woke up fully rested and hungry. The sun shown through tan curtains, and Dean remembered that he slept on the couch. He lived for the mornings like this, where he'd wake up fully rested and without a trace of a nightmare. Even though his back ached, Dean was grateful for his restful night.

He stretched his limbs out, listening to the cracks of his back and neck, rubbing at his sore shoulder, and made his way to his room. He peaked his head in through his door, spotting a lump under the layer of blankets. A deep snore affirmed Dean's assumptions that Castiel was still asleep. Quietly, Dean pulled the door shut.

In the kitchen, he turned on the coffee maker and put a bowl of last night's soup into the microwave to reheat for himself. By the looks of it, Castiel wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. His phone buzzed from the living room, grabbing his attention and leading him over to the TV set where his phone sat on its charger. An unknown number shone on the screen of his phone.

+13038721474 (10:42 am) Is my brother with u?

Eyebrows edged together as he unlocked his phone, Dean responded.

Dean ( 10:42 am) Who is this??

+13038721474 (10:43 am) Gabriel, Castiel's brother you lard ass.

Dean scoffed. The microwave dinged and the light turned off. He walked back to the kitchen and he pulled his food from the microwave. As he sat down to eat, his phone dinged in his hand. He took his first spoon of soup,before bringing his attention back to his phone.

+13038721474 (10:45 am) ANSWER ME I NEED TO KNOW IF I NEED TO FILE

+13038721474 (10:46 am) DAMMIT DEAN MY BROTHER COULD BE DEAD RN

+13038721474 (10:50 am) HIS PHONE KEEPS GOING TO VOICEMAIL WHAT HAVE I DONE I SHOULDNT HAVE SENT HIM OUT

+13038721474 (10:50 am) WHAT IF HE’S BEING EATEN BY CANNIBAL HOMELESS

+13038721474 (10:50 am) OR WorsE

+13038721474 (10:50 am) ANNA AND BALTHAZAR WILL NEVER FORGIVE ME

His eyebrows rose high on his forehead, and he tapped quickly.

Dean (10:51 am) Gabriel chill. He is FINE. He got stuck in the snow and was the dumbass to try and walk here in 7 degree weather. Get a hold of your self.

+13038721474 (10:52 am) YOU EVIL ASSHOLE I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD

+13038721474 (10:52 am) PLZ LEARN TO RESPOND FASTER

+13038721474 (10:53 am) ESPECIALLY WHEN SOMEONES LIFE IN ON THE LINE

Dean (10:55 am) Are you drunk or something?

+13038721474 (10:57 am) So I take my coffee with a dose of vodka so the fuck what

Immediately, Dean saved the number as ‘Gabriel’ and pushed his phone into his pocket. He picked his spoon back up and ate his breakfast.

--

His day mostly consisted of TV, checking in on Castiel, and waiting for Sam. It wasn't until the muffled lyrics of a Whole Lotta Love played through his pocket did he realize that Sam wouldn't be coming in tonight. He lets it go to voicemail before he listens.

"It's still really bad outside, and Ruby and Victor won't let me leave. Sarah ended up coming over, too. Her car got stuck out in the snow last night. There's about 3 feet of snow out there, so don't even try going out there. Be safe."

He texts Sam.

Dean (5:03 pm) Use protection.

Sasquatch (5:04 pm) Omg Dean don't.

Dean made a face. 'Omg?' He'd need to talk to that kid.

Once the clock struck 5:10, Dean decided that now would be the best time to wake Castiel. He needed to eat. Again, he walks back to the kitchen to prepare dinner for the man.

When Dean walked into his room, a bowl of soup in one hand and two mugs of hot chocolate balanced in the other, he found Castiel sitting up in his bed. He wore a dazed look, snuggled under three layers of blankets and looking even more disheveled than usual. His blue eyes met Dean's and his cheeks flushed pink as Dean set the bowl on the night stand.

"Thank you," Castiel mumbled, scratching distractedly at his arm, averting his eyes from Dean's, picking up the warm mug and cradling it in his hands. "I am not sure as to how I got here."

Dean reached over and pulled a notebook from under his pillow. He opened it to a blank page and pulled the pen from its spiral binding.

I brought you here. You got stuck in the blizzard and somehow managed to almost freeze your ass to death. I had to warm you up.

Castiel chuckled softly and shook his head, "That explains my lack of clothing. I will assume it is 'white hell' outside?"

You assumed correctly. Eat your soup.

Castiel abided by Dean's request and took the soup from the nightstand. His hands were paperwhite, his veins blue and his fingertips pink against the porcelain bowl. Outside, the sky grew darker, edging into night time. The lamp in the corner gave the room a soft glow, and the silence (aside from Castiel's adorable slurping ) felt comfortable.

Once Cas finished, he placed the bowl on the night stand. He shivered under the blanket, pulling it closer while Dean got up to retrieve a third. When he returned, he spread it out across Cas' back and pulled both sides towards the front of him, frowning at the shy man. He rose a hand to his forehead, letting the back of his hand touch the warm skin and watching Castiel’s eyes flutter momentarily.

Dean wrote on the paper. You’re warm, which is surprising. You should be on fire. Why were you out there? You told me you would go straight home.

Dean could feel the bit of repressed anger rise.

"I did," Castiel amended quickly. "But something happened."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. Castiel sighed.

"I wanted...ah... to tell you about an idea I had for chapter two, however, my reason for taking on that blizzard now sounds ..uh..stupid, for lack of a better word."

You don't say?

"Dean, I am sorry." Castiel shrugged, eyes averted to his pale fingers. Dean stared at Castiel for a long time.

After a few minutes, he stood, running a calluses hand over his face, took Castiel's bowl, and walked out of the room.

To say that Dean felt angry would be a sort of, kind of lie. Frustrated was a much better description. He placed the bowl in the sink. There was no way Castiel would have died out there, not on his watch. It was still scary to think about, though, nevertheless experience. He reached over, turning the water on and pulling the sponge from the side of the sink, and he started on the dishes in the sink.

Castiel frustrated him sometimes. He was careless with his own life, as if he weren't worth the time and self care he deserved. The times that Dean went over to Castiel's place, he could tell just by how Gabriel treated him and by the messy state often found the man that that was probably the case. Dean never bothered to involve himself in other's lives, finding himself to be a bigger mess and feeling the need to let others handle what's on their own plates without adding anymore of his own to theirs.

But Dean liked Castiel a lot. He liked the sound of his voice, and the way his hands seemed to caress everything he touched, and he liked those awkward and honest blue eyes of his. He'll, Dean thought of them every time he got in the shower to take care of his, er, business, but never mind that. The point was that Dean really liked Cas, and he wasn't exactly sure of what to do about it.

Dean harrumphed. He'd figure it out, he thought with a rare optimism. The worst that could happen if he made a move was that Castiel didn't feel the same at all. Then, fear replaced his optimism. Rejection would only prove his point further. Dean was damaged goods. He was the garbage often left at the bottom of the dumpster. No one wanted him, and if they did, they stuck around long enough to realize the mistake they made. Lisa made a good example of that, he bitterly thought.

He placed a disk on the drying rack. Lisa, a woman that his brother set him up with, was everything Dean thought he wanted. She was tough and beautiful, with a kind smile and eyes that made Dean's heart thump in his chest. Her hair felt soft between Dean's finger tips and her olive skin felt soft and warm, and Dean missed her sometimes. He often found himself staring at his phone, wondering if she'd pick up if he called, but he knew better.

Lisa was there for him through the hard nights and she helped get him out of bed when the days got too hard for him. She eased into his life carefully and was ready to stay, however, Dean pushed her away. She grew tired of him quickly, but she still stayed, and Dean couldn't understand why. It wasn't long before the cheating began. She never said anything, but Dean just knew. She was distant and out more often, and he went from seeing her almost everyday to seeing her maybe once every few weeks. Sam knew. He watched her flirt with endless amount of men and watched her take them to her car. And Dean and Lisa didn't talk. His friends tried to help, but no one could get through. Then Lisa became pregnant. And Mary finally interfered. It was a very hard year for Dean.

But Castiel wasn't Lisa. Dean sighed, turning off the waters and gripping the sink with his shaky hands. Thinking of Lisa made his heart ache, but it was a dull pain.

"I gotta know tonight. If you're alone tonight. Can't stop this.."

The lyrics were soft, and Dean recognized them as he was slowly pulled from his thoughts. A
low hum followed the flow of the lyrics. Dean peaked his head through the kitchen to find the source of the music. Castiel, engulfed in only one blanket and barefoot, held one of Dean's vinyl covers in his hand, staring down at the song list of Hysteria. Dean grinned to himself. Castiel was nothing like Lisa.

"Def Leppard?" Dean speaks over the fading music. Castiel startles, looking to Dean with pink cheeks, tapping at the record with a pale finger.

"I apologize. I..ah..felt bored sitting in bed. I hope you do not mind."

Never saw you as the heavy metal type.

Castiel smiled. "My musical taste varies. It can go from Antonio Vivaldi, which is rare, to something like Ingrid Michaelson or..er..Kanye West.”

Dean chuckled as he imagined Castiel sitting in front of his laptop, face placid and fingers typing, with Kanye West blaring through headphones. The blue eyed man smiled fondly, lowering his eyes to the vinyl cover in his hand and fiddling with it for a moment.

"I have a certain fondness for Pour Some Sugar on Me, and I am not sure why." Castiel said as he placed the vinyl back in its place.

So you're looking for someone to pour sugar on you?

"Not so crudely as you put it, but are you not?"

Dean's head tilted at the man, and it was then that he noticed the man's attire. One of Dean's favorite sweatpants were slung low on his hips, the elastic only doing so much for his taut body. Dean peaked at his pale torso before he looked back up at Castiel. He held another vinyl in his hand, Led Zepplin III, while he scanned the collection on the shelf.

You're very lucky I like you, Cas.

As he read over this, Dean could see the blush rise from Cas' neck to his cheeks again. He didn't give him the chance to answer, already writing on a new sheet of paper.

I kind of noticed that you talk like you have a really big stick up your ass. Private school?

Dean grinned jokingly at Cas when he looked up, earning an eyebrow quirked in challenge and a small smirk.

"I would think you were being prejudice had it not been a, ah, expression, but no. My father wanted us a certain way in front of cameras and taught us at a young age. Gabriel never followed directions, and Anna was only 5 when he left."

So is your speech a habit or something?

"I'm afraid that the way I speak is more than just a habit," Castiel consciously scratched at his arm.

No, like the way you speak. Castiel blushed as he read this. I just always wondered if it was something they taught in private school or something.

"Believe it or not, we went to public school."

Dean blinked.

Really

Castiel grimaced. "I was what you would call the 'odd one out.' Middle school and high school do not bring back good memories. No one took too kindly to the kid in a trench coat and a bodyguard. Father never liked the thought of putting us in private school. Father often told me that I was just different, that I would just have to handle it."

He sounds like a cruel king.

With a squint of his eyes, Castiel responded. "My father never ruled a kingdom."

Dean snorted at the blanketed man. It's an expression. I meant that he sounded like a mean guy.

"Oh," Castiel cleared his throat. "No..Father was very kind. He was good at heart. He just." Castiel paused, glancing at Dean and sighing. "He had a very different life and did not want us to grow with the hardships that he grew up with." Castiel chuckled. "He would be very disappointed if he could see me now. I let him down."

Dean watched as Castiel's eyes lowered to his hands. He took a seat on the cushioned, black couch and brought his legs up to crossover each other. Dean, placing one of the vinyls he picked up down on top of the record player, sat next to him and ripped the peice of paper from the notepad. There's a little space left.

I don't think so.

Castiel looked at Dean, who pulled another peice of paper from the notebook and wrote on it.

From what I know, your family let you down.

Dean frowned as he pat the man on his back. Castiel had his hands on his face now, his elbows supporting the weight of his head in his hands, and sighed shakily a few times. He wiped at his face with twitching fingers as he huffed bitterly to himself.

"Would you like to know what the newspapers called me when they found out that I abandoned the family?"

Dean looked at him again.

"'Fallen Angel.' We were all named after biblical questions."

Dean rolled his lips in and stood. Castiel watched him walk into the kitchen and heard the sound of clinking glasses and a creaking sound, then watched Dean come out a few minutes later with two mugs and a kind smile.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean shook his head and sat beside the cocooned man, bringing his mug up to his lips. ‘Excitable’ droned through his speakers, and he sunk deeper into the semi-comfortable couch.

“I...” Castiel hesitated, and Dean looked at the man. He was staring down at the small marshmallows that floated around in his hot chocolate. Dean waited patiently.

“I have never been...ah. I do not have many friends, but you, Dean Winchester, are my best friend.”

Dean’s eyes glided over the man’s face, watching the red rise from his neck and to his cheeks, watching his blue eyes flicker between the mug and cast side glances at Dean. Although something dropped in the pit of his stomach, he still smiled. He crossed his legs, placing his mug in the middle and picking his notepad back up.

You’re mine, too. You’re my best friend, Cas.

--

As Dean lay awake in Sam’s bed (he’d be a damned fool if he slept on the couch again), he let his head rest on his his arms and stared at the ceiling above him. Friend. He frowned. He needed sleep. Hopefully, it would be a nice, peaceful sleep.

Sleep never came, though. What did come, however, was a soft knock at the door. he looked up and at the door, spotting a shock of black hair, messy from sleep, and shy blue eyes that were illuminated by the hallway light.

“Dean? I hope I did not wake you.”

Dean tugged on the little string, watching as the small lamp light lit the room, and sat up in his bed. He beckoned Castiel forward and crossed his legs underneath the covers. Castiel hesitantly came closer, sitting in the space in front of Dean, pulling his blankets (three to be exact) closer to his body.

Castiel’s lips moved, but nothing came out. He paused and looked a his hands, and Dean noticed that he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. Finally, Castiel looked at him and cleared his throat.

"I have lied to you, Dean.”

Dean’s felt his eyebrows come together. He let his hands pat for a notebook and pulled a pen from Sam’s cup.

About?

"It is nothing bad, I hope, but it is rather difficult to explain. I have never been too good with words."

Dean chuckled, and Castiel glared at him, but he smiled shyly.

"May I have your hand?"

Without question, Dean put his hand out. Castiel took it, rising it to his chest and placing it over where his heart should be.

Castiel closed his eyes as his heartbeat picked up, and Dean understood. He understood why Castiel's skin looked so flushed with pink, aside from his slight hypothermia, and why he suddenly looked so helpless and nervous, even with his eyes closed, with Dean's hand so close to him.

He understood because it was the same way that Dean felt whenever he was around Castiel, including now.

"I...I have felt this way for quite sometime and..Gabriel told me that I should 'hold off telling you,'" Castiel did air quotes with his slender fingers, " but I wanted... I needed to tell you. That is why I was in the snow. I was coming to tell you that I've somehow fallen for you, Dean."

Dean stared at Castiel for a long time, to which Castiel stared back with his wide blue eyes. His stupid wide blue eyes, and his stupid pink and plum mouth, and his stupid crinkly nose, and...dammit.

"Since the day you first started on the tables at the coffee shop," Castiel continued, hands shaking as they held Dean's hand against his chest. "You looked at me and I felt something. I wanted you in every possible way imagined and I did not know what to do with that feeling."

Castiel felt the same way he did.

Dean wrote something and showed it to the man.

"Never use air quotes again?" Castiel read aloud.

Dean continued to stare at him.

"I... I have showed you how I felt and all you can s-"

And Dean's lips were on Castiel's plump ones. His nose bumped against Castiel's nose, but he didn't mind. He waited too damn long for this. Castiel's breath hitched, eyes wide and shocked and staring into Dean's relaxed ones, and he closed his eyes. His lips felt soft against Dean's own, moist and nice. Dean pulled back, bringing his hand up to Castiel's jaw and gliding his thumb over his pink bottom lip, before Castiel swooped in.

His lips moved against Dean's, slow and calm, but full of a heavy heat that ran through his body and pooled in his stomach. His arms wrapped around Castiel's blanketed body and pulled him closer, his hands smoothing over the rumpled parts of the top blanket, his tongue darting out to taste Castiel's lips.

Castiel tasted like chocolate.

Hesitantly and slowly, Dean pulled back, resting his head against Castiel's warm one. He kept his eyes closed, savoring the moment, letting his heartbeat slow down, and Castiel spoke.

"I will assume that this means you feel the same, yes?”

Dean laughed. There was no room for his own self deprecating thoughts. Not now, at least. They sat for a few minutes, Dean planting a few chaste, yet sweet kisses to Cas’ lips, and letting Cas’ hands rub against his sleeved arms. This was what Dean was hoping for, but so much better.

“I am going to let you sleep,” Castiel muttered with a smile, standing from Dean’s bed and backing away. “Good night, Dean.”

Idly, he wondered what this meant for them, but he let it go. Nothing needed to be sorted out immediately.

In return, Dean smiled a wide, genuine smile and gave Castiel a small wave. Once Cas out of the room, Dean let his body fall onto the bed and closed his eyes, feeling the blissful excitement swirl in his stomach as he turned onto his stomach. He snuggled his head into Sam’s pillow, not seeming to care for the smell of his girly shampoo as he thought about Cas’ lips. He finally got to find out what they felt like.

--

The next morning, Dean woke with a jolt. His eyes rounded the room, looking from the walls that were illuminated by the shining snow outside to the weird poster that was taped near the door. Tokidoki.

He sighed in relief, both hands cradling his sweaty face. He was in Sam’s room. He was safe. it was only a dream. He rolled his shoulders backwards and slowly brought himself to the edge of his bed.

He let his breathing slow down and even itself out before he rose from the bed. He took a few steps forward, but the room started to spin. Dizzy. He felt really dizzy. And sick. Dean waited a few seconds, blinking fast and hard, feeling his heart pick up its pace in his chest. Dammit.

His hands fumbled for the door knob, and he hoped that he could make it to the bathroom before he completely lost it. He stumbled through Sam’s doorway and down the hall, ending up in the living room rather than the bathroom.

From where he stood, he spotted Cas standing in the kitchen over the stove, one of the thick blankets wrapped around him and his cell phone held to his face.

"Balthazar, that is inappropriate," Cas paused as he picked up the skillet and poured some of its contents onto a plate, pouring the rest on the plate across from it. "We did no such thing, and that is besides the point.” Cas’ eyes finally looked through the kitchen entryway and into Dean’s panicked one’s. “I will call you later."

Dean sunk to the ground and let the edges of the memories of a dark basement. Cas feet quickly came into what was left of his view of the real world, and he could see Castiel’s stormy blue eyes, calm and hooded, staring into his eyes.

“Dean,” he said in a clear voice. Dean shuttered and closed his eyes. The room felt cold, but he felt so hot and constricted at his wrists and ankles. The cuffs of his long sleeved shirt and scrunch at the base of his sweatpants were replaced with metal cuffs, dingy and cold. A tray of Alastair’s ‘toys’ idled in front of him, Alastair standing behind them with a large grin and twinkling grin.

“Oh, Dean,” his words rolled out in a singsong tone. He tsked at him a few times, picked up one of the small, pointy scalpels and twirled it between his fingers.

“You’ve been very bad, Dean.” His face fell in mock disappointment. “Now I have to punish you.”

Dean heard a yell, pained, almost as if it choking on something, until he realized it was coming from his own mouth. He was screaming around the lump that formed in his throat. Behind his own yells, he heard voices. A nasally chuckle that belonged to Alastair, and then a calm, clear voice.

“Dean, whatever you are seeing is not real.”

Dean’s head shook, and his arms felt rigid, stuck, clammy.

“I need you to open your eyes.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Now all he could see was black, but the sound of Alastair’s laugh and his tools clinking together were loud and clear in his ears. He whimpered, and his throat hurt.

“Dean, please. Open your eyes,” Castiel’s voice came low and close to his ears. Dean flinched.

“I promise that when you open your eyes that you will not see whatever it is you are seeing now,” Castiel hesitated. “You will see my face. You will see my crooked nose, and my irritatingly messy hair. If you do not believe me, smell the air. You will smell scrambled eggs and maybe even the bacon."

Dean took a hesitant sniff. Eggs. He smelled eggs.

His throat felt tight and constricted, as if it were tied shut with a bread clip, but he managed to get one word out.

“Scared.” It came out strangled, and it hurt his throat.

Castiel spoke calmly. “Then you do not need to open your eyes, but listen to the sound of my voice.”

He felt his head shake, and Castiel spoke again. “May I touch you, Dean?”

His eyes were still shut, and he must have shook his head yes. He felt himself being moved, then he was laying down with his head resting on something lean and soft. Slender fingers ran through his hair, and a hand was holding his tentatively.

“You are in your apartment, your head is laying on my thigh, and you are safe.

Castiel repeated this a few times, and Dean could feel his heart relaxing, his head steadying itself, and his eyes loosening.

Finally, he peeled his eyes open. They felt like cinder blocks and drooped closed, but Dean fought to open them again. His vision was blurred. He could only make out the shock of black hair and blurred blues, but e knew it was Cas.

“Are you with me?” Castiel rumbled, letting the hand in his hair come to a rest on his forehead.

Dean shook his head and let his eyes fall shut for a moment. Castiel’s hands were soft, cool against his skin. He liked that feeling.

Once he felt his body was okay, Dean opened his eyes again. Blue eyes were looking into his, and a small smile peaked at the corners of Castiel’s lips. Dean slowly pulled himself up, still looking into Castiel’s calm eyes.

“How do you feel?”

Dean looked down, embarrassed, but Castiel only squeezed hand. As he stood, he put his other hand out for Dean to take and helped him up. Once Dean was standing, Castiel lead him through the living room and to the kitchen.

“I made breakfast,” is all Castiel said before sitting down and handing a glass of orange juice to him.

Chapter Text

Feelings, airplanes

A thousand miles above the ground

A cage, a cage

Has got you locked away

Locked away, locked away

With your sad eyes on

Mikky Ekko - Sad Eyes

Two days after the snowstorm, and Castiel found himself in his own bed, sound asleep and overcoming a small fever. While Gabriel bustled around the kitchen and prepared breakfast for his slightly sick brother, Castiel dreamed of green eyes and soft lips smiling over beautiful white teeth.

Then the smile fell from Dean’s lips. And the serene color behind him turned into an ugly, morbid color.

He opened his eyes. Breathe, Castiel, he told himself.

He sat up in bed, rubbing at his bare arms before he let his hands cover his face. This was rare. Nightmares for Castiel were rare nowadays. Something in his gut clenched as he thought of the possible meanings behind the nightmare.

Then Gabriel, the infinite ray of sunshine he was, burst through the door to Castiel’s room with Midnight bounding between his legs and coming to rest next to Castiel’s bed. He had a plate in one hand, a cup of what looked to be orange juice in the other hand, and a large grin stretched across his face.

“Today is your last day of being sick, if I have anything to do with it.”

And as he walked in, Charlie trailed in behind him.

“And Charlie’s here,” Gabriel quipped, placing the plate in front of the sleep ridden man.

Castiel blinked a few times, letting his mind adjust to the sudden change. He should be used to sudden changes by now, living with Gabriel for a month and all. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, passing the other one over his face in an attempt to make himself a little more presentable.

“Ah..thank you.”

“Mhmm. I’ll just leave you to your little girlfriend.” Gabriel set the glass on the nightstand.

“I’m a lesbian, Gabriel,” Charlie called after with an eyeroll as he walked out.

“Potential threesome candidate.” With that, he pulled the door shut.

Charlie looked at him and shook her head. Midnight barked.

“How a man like you can live with a man like him is beyond me.” She smoothed out a spot in front of Castiel and plopped down on the tan comforter. “A little birdy told me of your ‘eventful week.” Her eyebrows raised up and down, matching her smug smile.

“It..it was not like that..at least, I do not think so.”

“Tell me all about it,” she said this as she picked a piece of bacon off of his place and took a bite out of it. Midnight huffed, lifting herself from the spot next to Castiel’s bed and let her head rest on Charlie’s lap.

So, as wished, Castiel retold the events that took place earlier in the week. As he grew closer to telling her about the kiss he and Dean shared, he could see her grin forming. Charlie’s grin looked as it were wide enough to split her face in half.

“You and Dean kissed?” She exclaimed. Gabriel came through the door.

“There was a kiss? Why wasn’t I told about this?” Gabriel now stood in the open doorway. Castiel looked at him, mortified and ready to hide under his covers. This could not have felt more mortifying. Midnight barked.

“Apparently, they kissed in his room,” Charlie said as Midnight pushed at her hand. She pet the dog’s head. Gabriel’s eyebrows perked.

“Gabriel, please leave the room.”

Gabriel huffed, but he pulled the door closed. Castiel listened for the descending footsteps before he continued.

“It...ah. It did not go fa-”

“I know,” Charlie smiled sadly.

Castiel tipped his head a bit, the look of mortification slipping into curiosity. He wanted to ask, wanted to ask how she knew and what she knew, but he did not. It was not his business, and in time Dean would let him know what he needed to know.

“I knew it was gonna happen,” she smirked, pulling her dangling leg up and under her other leg. “There’s way too much chemistry between you guys for it to have not happened. To be honest, I was rooting you guys on like this was the Harry Potter books. You were my Luna.”

“Luna?”

Charlie looked at him. “You’ve never read the books?”

“I do not think I have. Should I?”

“Yes, but that is besides the point. What’s next?”

“Next? What do you mean?” Midnight whined and placed her head on Castiel’s lap this time.

“You know, what do you want to happen next?”

Castiel felt the blush rise to his cheeks. His eyes fell to Midnight’s wide ones, earning a small whine from her. He rose his hand and let his fingers graze against the fur near her ears.

“I am not experienced in the relationship department.”

Charlie was silent. He assumed she was listening.

“I..I..ah..I have only been in one relationship in my life. Dean knows of her. And sex is something of a casual thing to me.” He paused, feeling that the words did not leave his mouth properly. “By that, I mean. Well. When writing gets too much and the apartment is too empty, sex seems comforting. It is a thing of loneliness, I would say. I have not been fortunate enough to reach that ‘level’ of romantic connection with another person. This is all very new to me”

He looked at Charlie, who’s grassy eyes were trained on Castiel’s with mild concern and understanding. He sighed.

“I apologize. This is coming out jumbled and I am completely missing the point to my answer. I do not wish to...mess this up, for lack of better wording. The next step, I am saying, is whatever Dean wishes. I wish to go at his pace.”

Charlie looked at him a little longer before she sighed. Then, she did something he did not expect. She reached over and hugged him.

“You’re a good person, Cas.”

He blinked. He could feel the tears springing to his eyes, but now was not the time for crying. She pat his back a few times before withdrawing, smiling kindly and grabbing his hand.

“I just hope you have a ton of patience. Dean is hurt and..Dean is like my brother. I care for him a lot. And I hate seeing him hurt.” She frowned. “It hurts me when he hurts.”

“I have no intentions of hurting him,” Castiel affirmed.

“Good,” she smiled again. “Just to let you know, once everyone finds out that you and Dean have a thing, you will be hearing this little talk a little more than twice. Some will be harsh and some will be teary. Fair warning.”

“I am prepared,” Castiel smiled.

Charlie reached for another piece of bacon, but instead took the entire food. “These taste awesome. It’s the perfect mixture of sugar and salt.”

The man groaned, “Exactly why I will not be eating them.”

“Well, if you’re not gonna eat ‘em,” she picked up the fork and started on the pancakes. “And before I forget, today is Dean’s birthday. Be cautious.”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“His birthday is something of a ‘case sensitive.’” She leaned back a bit, stretching her arms out over her head and yawning, and let one side of her lip go up in half of a smile. “This is the earliest I’ve ever gotten up.”

“I am very used to waking up early,” he smiled. “I will keep the birthday thing in mind today.”

With that, Charlie stood up and went to leave the room. Then she stopped.

“Did you want me to take Midnight today?”

Castiel shook his head, “No. Thank you, Charlie.”

She gave one last smile before she left his room.

 

Once he was showered and dressed, he wandered out of the bathroom and into the living room, spotting Gabriel on the couch. He had a book open, a pair of reading glasses resting on his nose, and Midnight resting at his feet. She only inclined her head when she noticed him.

Gabriel, looking up from his book, frowned and wondered aloud, “And here I thought you were all skin and bones!”

Castiel glanced down at himself and brought a hand to his clothed chest, feeling the lean muscles beneath. He was dressed in a thin, black t-shirt and an old pair of jeans he believed once belonged to Gabriel. As he felt the prickles of hair beneath the fabric, he brought his head back. He would need to shave next time.

“I used to go to the campus gym, or even go for a run, however the recent weather has prevented me from doing so.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re healthy,” the blond smiled, resting his book on his lap. “For some reason, I keep thinking that you’re still this scrawny, short and quiet kid.”

Castiel rolled his bottom lip in, holding it between his lips, and let his eyes wander over to a spot on the wall.

“Um, Balthazar actually told me about some things that happened after I left,” Gabriel cleared his throat. “I know I about the thing that happened with you and-”

“No.”

Gabriel blinked, “No, what? Did none of this happen?”

“I do not wish to speak about this, Gabriel.”

“We’re gonna have to talk,” Gabriel sighed. When Castiel didn’t speak, Gabriel ran a hand over his face in mild distress. “Castiel-”

“No,” Castiel’s voice was clipped, cold, and it scared him. He’d forgotten how emotionless, how icy he could become. “We spoke when you broke in here, and I have allowed you to stay in my home and make it your own. Is that not enough?”

Gabriel was quiet, and Castiel moved across the room to the coat hooks.

“If I want to talk, I will. Your room is right across from mine.”

As Castiel pulled his sweater and peacoat from the hook, he heard Gabriel sigh again and Midnight huff. Already putting his arms through the soft wool sleeves and slinging the messenger bag across his body, he turned to his older brother and shook his head before he left.

--

Dressed in layers and with his messenger bag packed, Castiel headed out of the door and began his walk in the direction of the coffeehouse. His car, as Dean so kindly put it, was a piece of shit and was in need of replacing. Walks would be more frequent, but the weather wasn’t too bad outside. Aside from the occasional snowflake landing on his nose, it was just another winter day. I buried his head a little deeper into his scarf and his gloved hands into his pocket. A cold winter day, at that.

Finally reaching the coffee shop, he was greeted by the warm furnace air, the smell of fresh coffee beans, and Benny’s warm smile behind the counter.

“Ay, Cas. Heard you were under the weather.”

“I am feeling much better,” Castiel smiled, unfurling his scarf from around his neck.

“S’good. Uh,” Benny scratched at his neck, “Dean won’t be comin’ in. He uh-”

“It is his birthday,” Castiel filled in, nodding his head. “I know.”

Benny’s expression was one of mild surprise, but he shrugged his shoulder sadly. He reached up to rub his hand over his face and sighed.

“Guess it’s bad if he’s taking a day off. Anyway, Sam’s in his spot today.”

And right on cue, Sam emerged from the backroom. His lanky frame stands awkwardly near the counter, and his hair was pulled back into what Castiel can call a ‘frilly’ ponytail. Benny’s laugh mixed in with Jo’s scoff from the far back side of the cafe.

Sam made a face. This must have been one of the many ‘bitch faces’ Dean told him about.

“Real mature,” he scoffed as he pulled a pot from one of the coffee machines.

“That’s a beautiful ponytail, Samantha.” Jo walked over with her rag pushed into her back pocket, flipping her own with a loose hand. “It looks so much better than mine.”

“Cas, what do you think of the ponytail?”

And just like that, three pairs of eyes were on him. Castiel cleared his throat, standing a little taller.

“It’s very ah...nice, although I do apologize for having the misfortune of gaining such a feminine name.”

Sam’s face fell, and the cafe was filled with loud laughs, including Castiel’s own laugh. Sam fought a grin, and Jo snorted a few times, to which Benny looked on to with a fond look.

Castiel made his order, paying upfront before he sat down. Today, he settled into the soft drawl of William Fitzsimmons, undid his jacket and mittens, and pulled out his laptop. He had an hour before his first class, so he figured that catching up on some writing wouldn’t hurt.

In the midst of scanning a book, Sam settled a mug and plate on his table.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“You’re welcome. You, uh, go to KU, too?”

Castiel looked up to Sam, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Yes. I have seen you around campus a few times. Is this your first year?”

“Ah, yeah,” he huffed a laugh. “I didn’t expect to be here.”

“Where did you plan on attending school?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, “Stanford or Harvard. I got into both.”

“Those are very prestigious schools,”Castiel noted aloud. “Very expensive and far, might I add.”

“No kidding,” Sam agreed, sitting at that moment. “I had a full ride for both, though.”

Castiel hummed, taking sip from his coffee. “That is very impressive. What made you decide to stay.”

“Couldn’t leave home. There’s just too much here.”

“You have family here,” Castiel stated.

Sam only shook his head. Then he folded his hands and gained a look of curiosity.

“What about you?”

“Er. My house was not a home.” He lifted his mug to his mouth and took another sip.

With eyebrows furrowed, Sam asked, “What happened?”

Castiel sat back and thought, choosing his words carefully and considering them.

“My family was a...what anyone else would call unstable and unhealthy. They made it very difficult for me to be myself. My decision to leave California made things no better.”

“So you lived in California? Why, of all places, did you move to boring old Kansas?” Sam chuckled, “Lawerence especially.”

“My cousin used to live here. You might have known him. Balthazar?”

Sam, with his frilly ponytail flipping with his movements, sputtered and widened his eyes at Castiel, leaning in closer and over the table. “Balthazar is your cousin?”

“I will assume he has left his impressions on you.”

“He used to hang around here a lot. Got decked in the nose once by Jo.” Sam began to laugh out loud, and Castiel smiled. “While Benny was trying to clean up his bloody nose, he goes “I found that to be quite painful, yet arousing.” Sam mimicked Balthazar’s accent, to which Castiel groaned amusingly at. “And he used to give Dean a hell of a lot of shit for his ‘yummy face’ as he always put it.”

“Ah, I see.” Castiel was a little embarrassed. Sam must of noticed because he left and waved Castiel’s worries away.

“Don’t worry about it, man. He was pretty cool. He was like that one family member you couldn’t stand, but liked having around.” Sam stood up. “He even took over a few times when Dean took days like today off. Never asked for anything in return except for a ‘smooch from the dashing blonde.”

He wondered how Dean was doing, suddenly. Probably not as well as he thought if he did not even bother showing up to work. As Castiel thought about this, Sam awkwardly patted his apron.

“I should probably get back to work. Don’t wanna get shit from Jo.”

As the taller man began to walk off, Castiel bit the bullet.

Castiel spoke. ”Sam.”

He turned around, stuffing the notepad into his pocket in a similar way as Dean.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I...I know that it’s Dean’s birthday today.” He could see Sam visibly tense. “How is he?”

Sam stood still for a moment, looking conflicted and hesitant, but he brought himself over to Cas. His long legs slid into the booth and sat across from the dark haired man. He slouched a little, and his features looked a little worn, too worn for a 19 year old. He was silent for a moment, fiddling with his fingers, looking down into his lap and blinking once. When he looked up, his eyebrows were drawn lo, his faced crossed with something that could have been stress or sorrow. Castiel was not sure.

“He’s not doing too good,” Sam spoke honestly. “He’s been hold up in the apartment all day. Won’t get out of bed.”

Castiel frowned. He thought for a moment, bringing his laptop down to close, and took a deep breath.

“I was wondering if it would be alright for me to do something. Something small,” he paused. “I remember him telling me once that he liked pie. Apple pie, specifically.”

Sam looked at him with a thoughtful look.

“A man after my brother’s heart,” he muttered, which made Cas blush. Hard.

“Would it be alright if I made him a pie?”

Sam shook his head yes. “I think he would like that from you.”

“Okay. Do you know how to make pie?”

Unexpectedly, Sam huffed out a laugh, one that made the loose hair flop back from a jerk of his head.

“I do,” and as Sam said this, the lanky boy’s eyebrows quirked and his face lit up, “but I know someone who makes it so much better than I do.”

Castiel closed his book, inclining his head as Sam pulled out a notepad and scribbled something down.

“Only thing is,” Sam ripped the paper from the stack, “she lives about 30 minutes from here, and you’d have to buy the ingredients yourself.”

Castiel’s eyes fell to his clock on the screensaver of his laptop. Class would be in 45 minutes. He reached over for his mug and brought it up to his lips.

“I will go after class,” he muttered after placing it down, “Thank you, Sam.”

A small smile quirked at his lips, and got up from the table again

“It’s no problem. You need anything else, just let me know.”

He restuffed the notepad into his pocket and Castiel turned back to his closed laptop and closed book, staring at the address that rested on top. As Sam’s footsteps furthered away from him, he could hear Jo speak in a hushed tone.

“He grows on ya, doesn’t he?”

“Oh shut up,” he quipped.

--

Classes were relatively interesting. Religious studies were something he enjoyed quite a lot, but today his mind was far from school.

Castiel was on a mission. He was going to make a pie.

On his way home, he briefly spoke to Gabriel, getting the okay to borrow his car, so long as he allowed him to tag along.

“Gabriel, I do not have the-”

“My car,” Gabriel shouted through the phone happily, “I’m coming!”

So that’s how Castiel ended up parked in front of the supermarket, head resting against the dashboard and Gabriel singing the last bits of a ridiculous song. Loudly.

“Gabriel, please.” Castiel pleaded.

“Oh, baby bro, you need to chill out.” Gabriel turned the radio off and turned the key to the ignition. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t come in with you.”

Castiel opened one eye and looked out of its corner to stare at the blonde.

“I’m gonna be at the barber’s down the street from here. I just wanted to bug you a little.”

“Thank you for driving, Gabriel.”

“No problem,” he smiled at Castiel. “Now get out.”

As he gathered his messenger bag, he pulled himself from the passenger side and welcomed the cold breeze against his neck. He tugged at this scarf again.

“When you’re done, come find me.”

He watched his older brother pull off and out of the parking lot. Castiel shrugged his shoulders. Turning himself in the direction of the supermarket, Castiel dug his hands deep into his pockets and headed in.

While Castiel shopped, he thought of Dean again. He had not seen him since the storm, though they still texted each other. Today would not be the day to figure out where they stood, Castiel thought grimly as he picked up an apple. He examined it closely, squinting his eyes, scanning the apple for an abnormalities. He didn’t want to ruin things with Dean. Castiel constantly worried that he would ruin this...this thing he had with Dean. Whatever this was.

Castiel sighed contently and made his way over to the spices aisle. Looking at the list he’d printed out at home, he picked up a jar of nutmeg. He wasn’t completely sure of what spices to buy, even with the list in front of him. Then, he remembered Balthazar. At some point in Balthazar’s life, he was a baker in a cafe in Belgium. Hm.

Castiel rummaged through his pocket, feeling for his phone and dialing a number once he had a hold of it.

“Who is this?” Balthazar’s voice flowed in from the other line, static filled and neutral.

“Balthazar, it’s Castiel.”

“Castiel? I’m afraid I don’t know a Castiel.”

Castiel blinked and the cart in his hand was placed on the floor. “Balthazar,” he spoke.

“The only Castiel I know,” he hissed, “Doesn’t ignore his dear cousin’s phone calls and completely avoid his best friends. The Castiel I know,” Balthazar huffs exaggeratingly, “actually let’s his bloody friends know that he’s still breathing!”

“I apologize,” Castiel sighed into the phone. A hand came to rest on his face as two fingers pinched the skin between his eyebrows. “I had hypothermia and Dean’s father came into town. A lot has happened as of recent, and I could not quite pull myself away from my own troubles.”

“What?” Balthazar’s snarky voice dropped immediately and took on a tone that was far too serious to be his own. “Are you alright, Castiel? What is going on?”

“At the moment, everything is particularly calm. I can fill you in on it all later on tonight, but I am shopping for pie ingredients at the supermarket and need your assistance.”

“Pie ingredients?” He could hear the smile in his voice. He would regret this. “Trying to impress Mr. Esquire Model?”

“Not exactly. Today is his birthday and I thought it would be appropriate to make him something that would ease his birthday.”

“Ah,” Balthazar sighed. “How is the chap?”

“I do not think he’s well.” Castiel said this as he lifted a small container of star-shaped anise, squinting as he read the labels. “What is star anise?”

Balthazar chuckled, leading him to put it down and move from it. “Cassie, darling, I think you’d be better off with simple cinnamon.”

As Castiel picks up his ingredients, balancing his conversation with his cousin while squinting at labels here and there, he felt a dreadful feeling sink into the pit of his stomach. He missed Balthazar and Anna. It’d been almost 3 months since he last spoke to Meg. They were, honestly, all he had left from his old life.

“When are you coming back?” Castiel suddenly asked.

Balthazar paused. “Hmm. I’m not sure. Do you need me to come down there?”

And Castiel went to answer, a familiar pair of eyes locked onto his own. Standing a few paces away with a cart clutched in his hands and watery, hazel eyes that resembled Sam’s was on John Winchester.

“Cassie?”

Castiel’s jaw fell slack.

“Castiel, what is going on?”

He was not sure why, but his hands shook at the sight of John Winchester. The much older man, dressed in his leather jacket and a dirty shirt underneath the open leather, could not see him anymore with his back now turned, but Castiel could definitely see him.

“Castiel! Is someone there? Bloody hell, Castiel, answer me!”

“Uh,” Castiel stammered for a minute, gripping his small cart in his fist. “I am fine. Just caught off guard. I will call you later.”

“Cas-” He pressed the ‘end’ button and took a deep breath. Why was he panicking?

John began to turn. Quickly, with all the ingredients he gathered, he almost sprinted to the cash register. He needed to leave immediately.

His fingers tapped nervously on the metal of the conveyor belt. The woman behind the cash register was giving him doe eyes, but Castiel couldn’t care much for them. He turned around. He locked eyes with the sullen pair of eyes that belonged to John Winchester. Shit.
The woman placed his items in two bags, and Castiel took them and walked out of the store quickly.

The cold air hit him hard, but he had no time to adjust his scarf and hit. Castiel picked up his pace, gripping the plastic bags in his hand, listening to the foot steps behind him.

“You. Slow down!” He heard John’s voice behind him.

“I do not think Dean wants to talk to you, John.”

John stammered a little and looked on at Castiel with a look of surprise and a hint of anger. He was much bigger than Castiel, towering over him by at least four inches, maybe a little more. He could beat Castiel in a matter of seconds if he wanted to, however Castiel didn’t think that was what he wanted at the moment.

“Please,” he finally muttered out, desperate and unhappy.

“I have to go now.” Castiel turned around.

“Please. I just want to talk to my son!”

Castiel started walking, gripping tightly at the bags in his hands and adjusting his scarf.

“Dammit, Milton!”

At this, Castiel broke into a full run. He wasn’t scared, but he would do anything to avoid crossing paths with a certain Winchester. How did he know his name?

He rounded corners, crossed streets, and ran down sidewalks. He remembered that Gabriel went to the barber shop and quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and held the number two down.

“Gabriel, I need you to unlock the car,” Castiel panted into the receiver of the phone when his brother picked up.

“Castiel, what’s wrong? Are you alri-”

“Just do it, dammit!”

As he approached the car, chest heaving and calves aching, he heard a small beep beep. He pulled the door open, threw his bags in the back, and ducked into the front seat, sinking low into the leather cushions. A few seconds later, John Winchester sped past the car, momentarily stopping to look around for Castiel.

Castiel’s heart pounded in his chest. John began running again, away from the car and away from Castiel.

He let out a heavy breath, sitting himself back up in the car and throwing his head back. As he looked out the window, Gabriel’s eyes came into view, widened with concern and confusion. Castiel noted the difference in Gabriel’s appearance, his hair cut shorter and even out his sideburns cut.

As he got in the car, he looked at Castiel as if he was waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, the older man sighed.

“Well? Are you going to explain why there was a gargantuan man assumingly chasing after you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Castiel muttered.

The doors locked. Gabriel’s face was pulled into a grim expression, one a child would receive from a concerned and angry parent.

“You are not leaving this car until you tell me what the everliving fuck is going on.”

“Gabriel-” he began with a sigh.

“I mean it.”

Castiel looked at his brother with a desperate look, but there was no way he was going to squirm out of this one. Gabriel looked much more like an adult now with his hair cut shorter and his beard trimmed.

Castiel sighed. There was no escaping this. With his eyes on his hands in his lap, he told Gabriel everything. At some point, Gabriel began driving and turned the heater on. From the moment Castiel laid eyes on Dean to the moment Castiel hid in Gabriel’s car, Gabriel knew it all.

As his older brother pulled into the parking lot of the apartment, Gabriel turned to look at his brother. With a worried look and a frown on his face, Gabriel placed a hand on Casie;’s shoulder.

“Is there anything we can do at all?”

“There is not much we can do. He will disappear by the time we report him.”

Gabriel sighed, resting his head against the cushion of the seat, letting his hand graze over his face, then closing his eyes and breathing out again.

“Just...just be careful, okay? Please. For my sake.” Gabriel’s eyes were earnest and filled with worry.

Castiel shook his head.

“You can have the car. Just bring her back in one piece,” his brother joked lightlyu as he pulled himself from the car.

--

“Hello, Ms. Campbell.”

A woman stood in the doorway of the light blue painted house, standing around 5’8 with blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun and bright blue eyes the rivaled Castiel’s. She looked young with the mirthful smile she wore on her face, maybe in her early 40’s or late 30’s, but her eyes crinkled at the corners. They reminded him of Dean’s.

“You must be Dean’s friend. Is it alright if I call you Cas?”

Castiel laughed nervously, “It is quite alright.”

“Good. You can call me Mary. Come on in,” she said, stepping back and pulling the door a little wider. “We can set those in the kitchen.”

She took a bag from his hands before he could protest, walking in the direction of

The house felt warm, like a family home would feel, and the walls were painted soft blues and cool yellows. She placed the bags on the counter, Castiel mimicked her. She then turned from him, pouring liquid from a kettle into two mugs.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a sip from the porcelain mug, savoring the taste of peppermint tea. He took a seat in the comfortable stool.

“You’re quite welcome,” Mary smiled before she took a sip from her own mug. “So. How do you know Dean?”

“He is my best friend and romantic interest.”

Mary spluttered a little, clearing her throat and setting a small smile on her face “Sam was right. You’re straight forward. And truthful.”

Castiel blushed. “My brother says that it can be quite problematic.”

“Just means you’re an honest soul, sweetheart.” She smiled warmly, patting his hand as she took another sip. “So you have siblings? Older or younger?”

“One younger sister and four older brothers.”

“Are you close to them? Your family, I mean.”

“Ah,” Castiel placed the mug down in front of him, eyebrows pulled inward. “No. My sexual orientation, among other things, was problematic.”

She pat his hand again, smiling sadly and pushing her mug forward with the other hand.

“How do you know Dean, if you do not mind me asking?”

“We go way back,” she smiled discretely. Then, she picked up the two mugs and placed them in the sink.

“Alright, Cas. Let’s make a pie.”

Castiel smiled. He liked this woman.

--

As Castiel drove to Dean and Sam’s apartment, he glanced at the box in the back. A small ribbon was tied to the top of the box and the aroma of the

He parked Gabriel’s Prius in front of the apartment building and grabbed his messenger bag along with the pie. He pressed the button that read ‘apt 6a’ and waited for the buzz.

“Who is it?” Sam’s static voice came in.

“Castiel.”

Immediately after, the buzz came and Castiel pulled the door open. He ventured up the flights of stairs, avoiding the elevator completely, and holding the pie tightly in his hands. When he reached the door, he knocked once and waited for the

Expecting the long haired, lanky boy, he was shocked to see a short brunette in his place. Her sparkling brown eyes looked him up and down before opening the door wider.

“You look like a Castiel,” she said as he walked through.

“I am a Castiel,” he frowned. “Where is Sam?”

“He hopped in the shower. I’m Sarah, by the way.”

The girl smiled, and Castiel noticed her pretty teeth and how pretty in general she looked. Castiel smiled back.

“Where is Dean?”

Her smile faltered a little. “He’s in his room. I’m not sure if he’s awake, though.”

With a shake of his head, Castiel walked in the familiar direction of Dean’s room. The door was shut, so he knocked.

“No,” came Dean’s voice from the other side.

“Ah..I have pie,” Castiel spoke unsurely, shifting his weight onto the other leg.

In a few seconds, the door was cracked open. Dean’s eyes were lined red, hooded, but nevertheless curious as they looked at Castiel. His hair was disheveled, pointing in odd directions, and his face was flushed.

“I remember you said that you liked pie,” he answered Dean’s questioning look.

Green eyes stared at him a little wider before a hand pulled him in unexpectedly. Castiel, roused from his slight daze, now stood in Dean’s room. Then, soft lips were on Castiel’s chapped ones.

Of course, Castiel accepted this. moving his own lips with his, closing his eyes. He liked kissing Dean.

When Dean pulled back, Castiel opened his eyes. He could feel his cheeks redden as he cleared his throat.

“That was unexpected, but welcomed,” he spoke honestly.

Dean grinned, pushing the misery from his face with the crinkles by his eyes.

“Pie?”

Castiel looked down at the dented box. “Right. This is for you, though I am not sure if I am supposed to say ‘HappyBirthday’ or not.”

Dean nibbled on his lower lip, something Cas found a bit attractive, but a hint of misery flitted across his face.

“It’s apple,” Castiel opened the box and pulled a fork along with a plastic knife and plate from it.

Dean tugged him over to his bed, sitting and patting the space next to him for Castiel to sit. He took the box from the man, crossed his legs, and cut into the crust with a plastic knife.

When he took the first bite. Dean’s pupils dilate. Castiel saw affection and amazement in Dean’s gaze. The green eyed man quickly looked around for a pen and gestured for Cas to give him his arm. With Castiel’s arm out, Dean scribbled something out on his palm.

Oh my God. Did you make this?

“With some assistance,” Castiel muttered with a blush, “do you like it?”

Dean’s smile was wide as he shook his head yes. He took another forkful and held it out for Cas to take.

“No. I-It’s for you.”

Dean looked at him, staring in his eyes with look that reassured him. Hesitantly, Cas opened his mouth for him, watching as the fork . The crust was flaky and glazed with brown sugar. As his chewed slowly, the taste of cinnamon apples and nutmeg made his mouth water a little more. The fork was still at near his mouth, and Dean’s eyes were locked on Castiel with a look that may have been lust. Maybe. He swallowed, savoring the taste and the look on Dean’s face.

“I really like pie,” Cas muttered with wide eyes.

Dean’s chuckled made him smile. As he moved the box over to the other end of the bed, placing the lid back over it, Dean smiled at him again before he leaned in. Post apple pie kisses would be his favorite, Castiel thought wistfully. Dean;’s lips were soft and warm and cinnamon flavored, and Castiel loved it. Castiel’s lips moved fervently against Dean’s, and his hands found their way to his chest and rest on his biceps. Dean’s hand came up to hold his face, stroking a callused thumb over his jaw and cheek. Then, he pulled back a little to rest his head against Castiel’s flushed forehead.

“Thank you,” Dean spoke softly with sparkling green eyes.

Chapter Text

It's looking like a limb torn off

Or altogether just taken apart

We're reeling through an endless fall

We are the ever-living ghost of what once was

But no one is ever gonna love you more than I do

No one's gonna love you more than I do

Band of Horses - No One’s Gonna Love You

--

Castiel was stretched out on his back next to Dean, hands intertwined and eyes on the ceiling. The room was illuminated by the moon reflecting off of the snow and through the window. It was only 9 o’clock.

They were both very quiet, listening to the other’s calm and easy breathing. Dean’s hands felt warm in Castiel’s still cold ones.

“I did as you said,” Castiel started. “I applied at the library. They, uh, need one immediately, so I start next Sunday.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a smile ghost across Dean’s face, and he felt a his hand being squeezed by the other man’s.

Castiel always thought about Dean’s hands. They were the perfect mixture of comfort and strength, his fingers knotty and bumpy in their shape. His hands were big and strong, veins decorating the backs of his hand through his skin, but they were harmless and moved with thoughtfulness. Sometimes they twitched, often when he was unoccupied. Sometimes, when Dean spaced out while holding something like a broom, he developed calluses on his hands.Other times his hands shook, although it often went unnoticed. When it was apparent, like now as Dean’s hands squeezed Castiel’s again, no one ever said anything about that.

No one ever said anything about the scars on his hands, either.

Castiel spoke thoughtfully, “Is it always this bad? This day?”

He listened to Dean’s heavy sigh.

“Sometimes,” Dean said quietly.

Castiel hummed. In his mind, he wondered what it was exactly that made this day so terrible for Dean. Was this the day closest to when he was Dean was traded? Or was it something else? He felt tempted to ask, so tempted that he began to open his mouth, but he quickly shut it. His stomach stirred a little. He would’ve felt terrible if Castiel were to make the man uncomfortable, especially on a day that was already seemingly unnerving. Instead, he changed his question.

“Did anything make it more bearable this year?”

Dean didn’t respond, and Castiel looked at him. His eyes were staring straight into his, dark green in the barely lit room and wide as they usually were. They stared for awhile.

Dean squeezed his hand.

“Sam, Jo, Mom.” Quietly, he added. “You.”

A blush crept up Castiel’s face and he looked away from wide green eyes, filled with kindness and light of the moonlight. There was a lump in his throat, and he couldn’t quite understand why his eyes began to water. He closed his eyes and opened them again, staring blankly at the ceiling with blurred vision.

“Okay?” Dean question him softly.

“I just..” Castiel trails off, closing his eyes, rubbing a thumb over Dean’s scarred knuckle. “I want to stay like this for a while.”

At this, he felt Dean’s eyes on him for a moment, felt Dean’s hand squeeze his a little tighter.

Then, he said, “Okay.”

--

No more than an hour of their serene silence, a knock came at the door. Sam’s voice was clear and pulled them to the real world. As they emerged from the room, Castiel and Dean were both taken aback by the amount of people and by the bright lights that lit the living room. A banner was taped from one side of the room to the other and read, “Happy Birthday, Dean!” On the coffee table sat a nicely decorated cake that more than likely read the same thing.

Castiel looked to Dean for his reaction, but only found a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes shined brightly as Jo bounced over to give him a hug.

“Happy Birthday, you lug,” she laughed into his shoulder. Dean hummed as he hugged his sister tighter.

She pulled back from the hug and held him at arm’s length. “How are you doing? Hope you can come into the shop tomorrow. Sam sucks at serving tables-”

“Hey,” Sam barked as he came into view with a few plates, Sarah giggling next to him.

“-and I don’t think poor Castiel can take anymore of his sissy little ponytail.”

“Yes,” Dean said assuringly, chancing a quick glare towards Sam and diminishing any protest the brother

“Well, c’mon.” Jo tugged his arm gently. “Uncle Bobby and Rufus are waiting for you.”

Dean smiled a small smile at Castiel, nodding his head before wandering off with Jo tugging him towards the kitchen.

Castiel wandered over to Sam and decided to help him bring things to another room. He never took notice to the room at the end of their hallway until now. It was a dining room, he guessed as he looked at the long table that took up most of the room.

“Our mom and Uncle Bobby put the money down for this apartment. Don’t think we would’ve been able to get something like this with our jobs,” Sam scoffed as he put the plates down on the table.

“I never realized how large this apartment was,” Castiel commented, placing utensils next to the plates. Sarah wandered in a few seconds later with a large bowl and disappeared after putting it down.

“The living room gives off the impression of a small apartment, but there’s like...four extra rooms.”

He hummed in response to Sam’s response. Once the table was set, the long haired teen looked to Castiel, fiddling with his fingers for a moment.

“Uh, how was Dean?” Sam asked a bit timidly, unsure of whether Castiel would give a straight answer.

Castiel was honest. “He seemed a little worn, but he was okay, nevertheless. I do not believe he was on edge, if that is what you mean. He just seemed tired.”

“Okay.” Sam shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. Suddenly, Sam looked more like an old man than a college teen. This made Castiel’s heart clench sadly.

“Well,” he began, “if it’s any consolation...he said this year was bearable.”

“Sam’s eyebrows scrunched together. “He said that?”

“Not exactly. He uh..I asked him if anything made this year more bearable for him. He said you, his mother, and Jo,” Castile blushed, “...and me.”

Sam’s eyebrows were still scrunched, but he smiled wide.

“Not much of a field player, are you?”

“I do not understand th-oh.” Castiel muttered, taken back by the meaning of his question. “If you mean ‘getting around’, then the answer is no. Not anymore, at least.”

Sam’s smile fell a little. Castiel quickly spoke.

“I, like many other people, have some demons that I have fought off, being a bed hopper as one of the few things I have crossed off, and a past that I am still trying to make peace with...but..ah,” Castiel nervously scratched at his neck. “I have no intentions of letting that interfere with what I have, whatever this is exactly, with Dean.”

Sam was staring at him through critical, hazel eyes.

“I really like Dean and I am not sure of how to put everything into the right words to let you see that I have no intentions of hurting him. This...this relationship, should he decide to go further, all goes at his pace.”

Sam was still staring at him, but the intensity of his stare lessened.

“I know you don’t.” Sam spoke sincerely to the man. Castiel gave a small smile in return, feeling his shoulders drop in relief.

“Let’s get back out there before they think I killed you or something.”

As they made their way back to the living room, Castiel noticed the other decorations, including the leftover Christmas lights.

“I thought Dean did not like celebrating his birthday?” Castiel questioned as Dean playfully knocked Jessica’s hat off of her head.

“We kind of throw a mini party for him every year. He claims he hates it, but it makes him smile a lot.” Sam said when Castiel gave him a questioning look.

“Oh,” Castiel muttered. As he spotted Dean hugging a blonde woman, obviously happy to see her, he smiled to himself. “This is very nice.”

Sam shrugs his shoulder, a small smile coming up on his young face. “He tells us not to throw him one every year, but I think he likes it more than he’ll ever admit it.”

Castiel hummed to himself. Then, he asked, “Is Sarah your significant other?”

He watched Sam’s face flush a bright pink, watching him clear his throat and sway back and forth on the heels of his shoes.

“Boy, Cas, you don’t beat around the bush.”

“I apologize,” Castiel blushed,, “I’m trying to learn how to ‘filter’ what I say.”

Sam chuckled, “Please don’t use air quotes. And no...not yet, at least.”

Cas hummed in response. A cup of hot chocolate was then shoved into his hand by an over enthusiastic Benny.

“Smell that?” Benny grinned, sniffing the air for effect, “that’s the smell of Mrs. Campbell’s famous apple pies.”

Sam smirked secretly, Castiel perked up.

“Mrs. Campbell is coming?”

Benny gave him an incredulous look, shifting onto another leg and inclining his head towards Dean. “She’s already here.”

Once Dean pulled from the woman, he did not feel too shocked to realize that it was Mary. However, he couldn’t help but feel a little confused when Dean led her over, a large smile on his face as he started the introductions.

“Mom,” he gestured his hand in Castiel’s direction. “Cas.”

It dawned on Cas.

This was Dean’s mom.

He baked a pie with Dean’s mother.

Castiel felt his face flush, his eyes fluttering from Dean, to Mary, and back to Dean.

“W-We’ve met before,” Castiel fumbled over his own words.

Mary laughed a rich, soft laugh before placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I helped Castiel bake the pie.”

Dean’s look of surprise was matched by Benny’s soft, “oh.” Sam chuckled a little.

“Cas didn’t know how to make a pie, so I sent him to Mom,” Sam shrugged when Dean threw him a questioning look.

“Don’t go doubtin’ Cas too much, hun,” Mary smiled as she rested a reassuring hand on Cas’ shoulder. “He did it all himself. Just needed a little direction, isall.”

Castiel blushed a little more. “Ah..” he stammered.

“Amazing,” Dean said softly, and Castiel blushed harder at the smile directed at him. Dean’s eyes twinkled as they stared into his, and he couldn’t help but give a small smile in return.

“Can we get this shindig started before those two start kissin’?”

“Joanna Beth!” Mary called behind her.

“Sorry,” Jo muttered.

--

Before dinner was called, Castiel decided to take a seat with his second cup of hot chocolate. People were buzzing around, mostly Benny teasing Jo to point of punching him square in the stomach. A little ‘oof’ and a stunned look was enough to get a small laugh out of Cas. Dean and Sam were setting up the dining room chairs while Sarah went back and forth between Mary and the dining room.

As he took his first sip,he noticed a gruff looking man speaking to a tall, dark gruffer looking man, sipping at mugs of hot chocolate. They were looking at Castiel with an odd look, one that made Castiel uncomfortable enough to offer to help with the rest of the food in the kitchen.

“Did Bobby and Rufus scare ya off?” Mary smiled fondly as she settled a pot in his hands.

“If you are referring to the man with the earring and the man with baseball cap, then yes.” Castiel cleared his throat, “they may have intimidated me. A little.”

“You don’t need to worry about them,” she grabbed the other pot. “They’ve known Sam and Dean since before they were born. Practical father to them, especially Dean.”

He could see the emotion in Mary’s ace and here in her voice, both heavy with defeat, sadness, and an undying anger. He could hear it in every voice that ever spoke about John Winchester. He could only vaguely understand why, why he got the sense of it.

Mary sighs but smiles in his direction, leading him into the living room again. Bobby and Rufus immediately let their eyes wander back to Castiel, both taking a sip from their mugs

Mary rolled her eyes. “If you don’t stop starin’ holes into this poor boy’s head I’ll make sure you both miss dinner!”

That got their attention. Rufus, the man with the earring, coughed out a laugh while the other man, Bobby, scoffed and downed the rest of his hot chocolate.

“And I better not smell any liquor in there!” She scowled. Then, with a flick of her hair and a small smile, she turned back to Castiel. “Honestly, they’re big softies. Don’t let their old lines fool ya’.”

An unsure nod was all that he could manage as she handed off the pot to Sam.

“Go sit,” she smiled. “I’ll call you in when it’s time.”

She took the other pot from Castiel and she moved into the hallway, leaving no room for Castiel to argue. So, he sat.

Almost two minutes later, he watched from the corner of his eye as the two men moved over and into his space. They made themselves comfortable in0ext to Castiel, and all the man could do was pick his mug up into his hand and sip nervously.

“S’you’re Cas, huh? Dean’s friend?” The gruff looking man now sat beside him on the couch.

Unsure, Castiel fiddled with the handle of the mug, “You can say that, yes.”

Rufus quirked his eyebrows. “Huh. Smart one, aren’t ya’?”

Uncomfortable, Castiel shifted in his seat. “I uh..I would like to believe that I am, yes.”

“Aw, hell. Kid, there ain’t nothin’ you need to be stuttering over. We ain’t that scary,” Bobby scoffed.

“A little grumpy, yeah-” Rufus interjected., tilting his head as if he were agreeing with himself.

“But we ain’t scary. Unless you plannin’ on hurtin’ Dean. Cause then,” Bobby, with a small smile, leaned in a little closer. “I’ll rip your genitalias right off and feed ‘em to my dogs.”

Castiel felt his skin go frigid. He might have even peed himself a spot.

“Yup,” Rufus shook his head. “Betty and Seamus. Hell, we’ll even sit back and watch,” Rufus shrugs.

“With beer,” Bobby adds nonchalantly.

“Hell, we should let him watch, too. Maybe we’ll even throw him a bottle.”

Bobby grins, “We ain’t stingy.

To say Castiel felt unsettled was an understatement. He tried to steady his shaking hands by gripping the mug a little tighter and felt the lump in his throat rise. These men were like something out of a horror book. Maybe a little more towards gory than anything. However, he understood the underlying message that practically every person in Dean’s life was sending him: hurt Dean and he gets hurt.

Castiel felt his chest burn a little. Did no one had any faith in him? But his chest settled a little with understanding. There were obvious reasons to his question. People had hurt Dean and the one’s who loved him were tired of seeing the repetitive pain. That much was obvious.

“Hello?” Rufus waved a hand in front of his face. “Anyone home in that noggin?”

So, instead of cowering into the fear he felt for the two men, he straightened his shoulders back, hands no longer shaking and his head turning in his direction.

With eyes on Bobby’s wrinkled ones, he said firmly, “I have no intentions of hurting Dean. I have not, as Sam mentioned early, ‘played the field’,” he used air quotes, “and do not plan on ‘screwing’, as a kind hearted Jo mentioned previously, with Dean’s feelings.”

Bobby’s head sunk back and a little into his neck, a single eyebrow quirked and a his eyes a little wide. Rufus chuckled on his other side.

“Well, that’s that.” Bobby sighed, shrugging his shoulders and letting a more relaxed look wash over his face.

“Heya, Castiel, why is it that you talk so..what’s the word I’m looking for...”

“Like I have a stick up my ass?” Castiel deadpanned.

Both Rufus and Bobby looked to Castiel with matching expressions.

“I have been told frequently that I talk as if I have a stick up my ass.”

Rufus’ earring shook with the way he laughed, and Bobby fought back a smile. Castiel relaxed a little, letting himself smile, too.

“I grew up in a very, socially deprived household and only learned how to speak conversationally from text.”

“That was a mouthful,” Bobby spoke honestly, looking at the man with a mock-sorrow filled look. “I bet it wasn’t easy at school.”

“Quite,” Castiel said, looking nostalgically at his mug. “But children are children.”

Before either men could say anything else, Dean came into the living room again, giving Bobby a tentative look before clearing his throat.

“Dinner,” he muttered clear enough, but sent Rufus a similar look.

“We weren’t doing anything, idjit,” Bobby muttered, pulling the cap on his head a little lower. “Just gettin’ to know the new guy.”

“Dinner,” Dean said again, this time rolling his eyes and inclining his head in the direction of the dining room.

Muttering something under his breath, Bobby stands up and smacks Rufus on the arm. Both walked down the hall, bickering back and forth about something, and Castiel completely relaxed.

Dean looked at him sympathetically and smiled a small smile. “Sorry,” He apologized.

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Cas assured, smiling back. “I think I may grow to like them.”

“Aw,” Jo said with mock-sorrow, now sitting on Benny’s back. Benny looked a little lost, his hand holding his head up in defeat. “Why’d you stop? It was fun watching Uncle Bobby grill Cas.”

“You..you did not think it may have been appropriate to come to my rescue?” Castiel may have squeaked just a bit.

Jo laughed, and even Benny, in his state as Jo’s chair, couldn’t hold off a chuckle.

“No one can save you from Bobby. And I mean no one!”

“Well,” Benny interjected, “no one but Dean, and maybe even Sam.”

Jo scoffed and crossed her arms. “Yeah, well that’s because we all know that Dean’s his favorite. And Sam might as well be the daughter he never had.”

Dean stifled a laugh. At this, she dramatically pulled a hair band from her wrist and pulled her hair into a ponytail much higher than the one Sam strolled around the shop with.

“Lettuce is good for you,” Jo said in a high pitched voice. She shook her head a few times, earning a few chuckles from both Dean and Benny from the way that it shook. “I’m a fucking frilly ass moos-”

“Knock it off,” Sam yelled, now standing at the doorway with his arms crossed. His hair was pulled into a low ponytail that curved and touched the base of his neck.

Castiel could not keep it together.

Even as he clutched his stomach, laughing and tossing himself backwards against the couch cushions, Benny and Dean’s laughs bellowed over his. A snarky ‘told you your ponytail was dumb’ came from Jo.

When the laughter died and all the sound that was left were the small sniffles and clearing of throats, Sam tossed his hands up and walked back towards the dining room.

“Mom said come eat before the food gets cold,” were his departing words.

As they collected themselves, Jo came over to pat Cas’ shoulder firmly.

“Wish I’d met you sooner, Cas. We would’ve been best friends a while ago.”

Astounded, Cas looked at her with a small smile. “Really?”

“Duh!” She shoves hims with her shoulder. “Why would I lie?”

--

Charlie showed up right as dinner was served.

“Sorry!” She squeaked, throwing her jacket off and onto the floor, earning a soft sigh from Mary. “Castiel, your brother is ridiculous.”

Quickly, she went around the table giving hugs and kisses to the people seated, giving Dean the longest hug. She didn’t react when Dean flinched a little. Just a little.

They all settled down to eat, and Castiel had never felt like he belonged to a family more than he did now. Family dinners at home were never as animated as this one was. They were either very silent, tense and uncomfortable, or very loud, filled with judgemental remarks and arguments between his brothers and uncles. The worst argument he experience that night was one that regarded Jo and Benny’s blossoming relationship and the last meatball.

“It’s the meatball or the date, Benny. You can’t have both,” Jo playfully seethed, her fork stuck into the meatball.

“Are you sure you want that, shorty?” Benny grinned charmingly.

“Benjamin Wallace Lafitte, I swear on all th-”

“Wallace?” Bobby inquired comically, putting his fork down in disbelief.

Down the table, Rufus held his belly in pure joy while he laughed loudly, repeating over and over again, “Wallace.” Dean, who sat right next to Benny, stifled a few chuckles as he pat his embarrassed friend.

Benny stirred, “Wallace is a well respected name in my state.”

“Well kid,” Bobby leaned forward. “This ain’t Oz. You’re still in Kansas..Wallstreet.”

“Whew!” Rufus blew out happily. “The nicknames I could come up with for you, Wallet.”

“That’s not my na-”

“Babe,” Jo smiled wide. “Let go of the meatball before I tell ‘em your full middle name.”

Sarah hid her face behind a napkin, leaning over to Mary whose lips were pulled in tightly, fighting off a smile. “There’s more to his name?”

Benny faltered, pulling his fork from the meatball and returning to his meal begrudgingly. A the small blonde plopped the large meatball on to her plate, humming as she cut it in half.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Mary smiled. “I’ll make you a batch full tomorrow.”

Benny shook his fork at Jo with a small piece of meat still hanging off of his fork.
“Thank you, Mary.”

“No problem, Walrus.”

To say dinner with the ‘Winchester Plus’ was interesting would be a distortion.

“So, Castiel,” Sam said as the laughter died out. “I don’t think I ever asked you what your major was? Uh, Dean said you like to write, so I’m guessing English Lit?”

“Ah, yes. And philosophy,” Castiel answered before scoping a little more of Benny’s macaroni casserole into his mouth. At this, Dean’s eyebrows out went up.

“Philosophy?” Dean said from across the table.

Castiel swallowed, “Yes. With the way that I grew up, I did not know much of anything accept for what was allowed of me to know. When I went to high school, I had so many questions about the nature of our lives and I could not understand why people were so unkind to me. To save a long story, I took a philosophy class as an elective and I found it a bit helpful.

It was quiet.

Then...

“You didn’t have a whole lotta friends back where you came from, did’ya Cas?”

“Jo!”

“What?” She said, throwing her hands up and looking around the table. “It’s just a question!”

“No,” Castiel answered quietly, looking down at his fork, twirling some spaghetti onto the end. “I did not.”

“That musta’ sucked.”

“Jo,” Mary warned.

“It’s not like he doesn’t have friends here, Ma! Right, Cas? We’re your friend’s, aren’t we?”

Castiel’s heart warmed a little. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“Good, ‘cause if you said no, I’d have to cut ya.” Jo smirked, taking a sip from his cup.

“Jo,” Mary sighed, placing a hand on the side of her face.

“I have a whole knife collection at home. Wanna see?”

“Joanna Beth,” Mary exhaled loudly, now looking at her adoptive daughter with a look of exasperation.

“Ma, I’m just playing!”

“Only a fool would willingly be friend’s with that girl,” Rufus half whispered into Benny’s ear.

“What was that, old man?” Jo challenged.

“Old ma...little lady, do you know how old I am?”

“Old enough to use Life Alert.” Jo bantered wistfully.

Bobby spit his own drink in his glass to keep from choking.

“You too, old coot.”

“Jo, please.” Mary sighed again.

“I say she gets clean up duty,” Sam said innocently, fighting off a grin as he ate when Dean chuckled.

“I don’t think your luscious locks would mind a visit from old faithful, Princess Samantha.”

Sam sputtered. Dean launched a small croton with a spoon, with a warning on his face.

“You still haven’t forgiven me? Your hair grew back....eventually.”

Castiel smiled, “Dean was bald?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam chuckled, earning a kick from Dean. “I have pictures. I’ll show you later.”

Dean groaned, shaking his head.

Charlie piped up, “But I could have sworn I burned- I mean, misplaced those pictures a year ago, Sam?”

Dean perked, grinning widely at Charlie and reaching over a pissy looking Sam to high five her.

“You’d think I’m having dinner with a bunch of nine year olds.” Mary jokingly sighed as she took another bite from her plate.

“I agree, Mary,” Benny said as he took a sip from his glass.

“O hush, Walmart.”

He felt Dean’s foot under the table, nudging at him. When he looked up, he spot a small small on his face and a shrug of his shoulders. Sorry for my family. Castiel smiled warmly.

--

“Guys, I have an announcement.”

Everyone looked to Charlie, who finished eating and wore a large, but nervous smile on her face. Most of the people at the table were done, aside from Sam and Benny. Sam went for seconds, only allowing himself a large amount of salad (“Rabbit,” Dean muttered as he cut a slice of pie for himself.) while Benny went for a third plate.

“Careful, girly,” Rufus said cautiously, “Benny here might blow up before you start.”

Benny huffed.

“So, you guys know that I fart art with Garth.” (Benny whispered ‘Fart art?’) “We’ve had someone sponsor us and- we have a gallery opening in March and want you guys to come,” Charlie interrupted herself excitedly. “We’d love it if you guys could come.”

“Sure,” Dean says confidently.

Castiel isn’t sure of what to make of it when the others at the table exchange looks. Charlie, who’s eyes were wide and anxious, lets a genuine smile accommodate her face.

“Really” She says softly. “I’d really appreciate it if you did come, Dean.”

Dean, with a small smile on his face, hands shaking with what Castiel could only assume was anxiety, reached over and let his hand connect with Charlie’s for a moment.

“And even if you can’t-” Sam starts.

“Sam,” Dean says firmly.

“-it will be okay, too.”

It’s quiet. Dean has his eyes firmly locked on Sam’s sympathetic ones. Then, Dean does something he wasn’t expecting. He holds one hand in the form of a hole and puts two fingers in, drawing them out firmly, then cradles both arms as if he were hold a small animal, and then pointing to himself.

His hands were shaky, but the look on his face screamed of the assurance

Dean was signing.

Dean spoke sign language.

“Stop..babying..me.” Benny whispered lowly as Dean signed. Castiel would ask him to teach him later.

“I’m not,” Sam let out a frustrated sigh. “We just all know how you get when you go out to place that’s not Mom’s house or the Cafe. I’m just letting you know that it’s okay if you don’t go.”

Dean points to himself. Then, he takes his index and middle finger, draws a quick loop

“I’m normal,” Benny whispers.

“But you’re not!”

“Sam, that’s enough.” Mary intervened. She gave her on a pointed look, then offered him her plate. “I think you should go put the plates away.”

Sam stares at her from his seat before glancing at Dean. He doesn’t meet his gaze. Sighing, Sam stands and takes the few plates that are offered to him, backing his chair out and stalking away from the table. Once his lanky frame is out of view, Charlie leans over and lets a firm hand squeeze his shoulder lightly. He flinches away at her touch.

“Dean...he has a sort of social anxiety. He doesn’t exactly like being in public spaces with lots of people,” Mary informed Castiel’s confused look.

Dean grunted, poking at his food with a flushed look across his face.

“It’s a huge step from being in his apartment all day,” Jo said through a mouthful of food.

With that, Dean shot her a look, filled with hurt and and a raging anger, before he backed up from the table. He pushed his chair in and he stalked out of the dining room without another word. Mary sighed, placing a hand on her forehead and leaning against the table. Sam came back in with a questioning look.

“That was a little insensitive, Jo,” Mary informed her quietly.

Quietly, Jo responded, “I wasn’t trying to be insensitive this time.”

“Well, you’re all idiots,” Rufus grumbled, watching Bobby pour a glass of water and place it in front of Mary. “The boy is already on edge, it’s his damned birthday, and his own siblings can’t even keep the boy the one place he needs to be?” Rufus shakes his head in disappointment.

“Uh,” Bobby starts, scratching at the back of his neck, “I have ter’ agree with Rufus there.” Then, he points to Sam. “Especially you, boy. You did wrong tonight.”

“I was just being honest, Bobby.”

“Ever heard of honesty not always being the best policy?” Rufus quirked his eyebrows at the 19 year old.

“It works for Cas,” Sam grumbled, taking the rest of the plates as he walked out.

As if remembering that Castiel was there, all of the eyes at the table turned to him. He could feel his ears start to turn pink.

“E..Excuse me if I sound a bit insensitive,” Castiel says meekly, bringing his eyes up to meet the other gazes, “but I’m very confused.”

Bobby chuckled low, taking a sip from his glass and sighing. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

“I think it’s safe to say that dinner’s over.” Charlie said quietly.

Sarah stood and muttered something about helping Sam with the dishes. Benny, being the gentleman that he was, stood and began helping to clear the table. Charlie and Jo began piling the chairs up against the wall. Castiel, with itching fingers and a shaky leg, attempted to slip from the dining room quietly, hoping to catch Dean outside.

“Cas.”

He stood near the door and turned around to see Mary standing with a jacket clutched in her hand.

“Can you make sure he puts this on? He’ll be out there for a while.”

She smiled sadly as Castiel took the jacket from her. As he pulled his own on, he gave Mary a small smile and left.

--

When he finally found Dean, the man was leaning against his car down the street from his building. A cigarette was perched in his mouth as he struggled with the lighter. Quietly, Castiel went to stand in front of him. In the street, Dean’s green eyes stared dully at Castiel as he fished around his pockets for a lighter.

“They put the pies in the fridge,” he informed him softly, finally finding the lighter and bringing it up to the cigarette. Dean shook his head, pulling the stick from his mouth and tossing it to the floor. Castiel handed him the jacket, watching him let out a sigh and pull his arms through.

The man began to walk, and Castiel trailed behind him. His walk, usually long strides and heavy stomp, were slow and his feet skidded against the concrete sidewalk. Finally, Cas decided it would be best to walk beside him and caught up the man, keeping a safe distance, but keeping his hands at his sides for Dean. Just in case he wanted to hold his hand.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, slow paced, and Castiel could see something flicker across Dean’s face. His head was kept low and his hands were shoved in his pockets.

A few more minutes later, and Dean pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket. Castiel produced a pen from his own pocket and gave it to Dean.

When Dean finished writing, he pushed the small paper into Castiel’s hand. His eyes locked with his for a beat, then he turned and began to walk again.

When I was a kid my Dad was a drunk douche bag and sold me off for a bottle of Scotch. Then Ala Then this guy really fucked me up and now I have a shitload of issues and I can’t even let my own friend touch me without shying away because all I can think is that they’re going to try and hurt me and I know that they won’t but I can’t stop thinking it. My dad switched me off around this time.

The words were shaky, and Castiel looked at Dean’s own shaking hands as they ran through his short hair and pushed back into his pocket. He didn’t look at Castiel.

“Dean, thank you for telling me,” Castiel muttered softly, watching as snow flurries began to fall from the sky. Nothing he could say, other than thank you, felt right. Dean didn’t want sympathy, and Castiel wouldn’t give it to him.

Shaky hands appeared in front of him and took the small slip of paper from his hands. Dean quickly wrote something, then pushed it into Castiel’s hands, this time looking him in the eyes and holding his gaze.

Cas, why haven’t you done some digging on me? Why haven’t you asked me for my file? Why haven’t you gone looking for something, anything about the things I haven’t told you?

 

Castiel looked the small receipt over again before bringing his eyes to Dean’s tired ones. They were a little red rimmed, and his nose was colored pink from the cold. Castiel sighed.

“Although, there is, I assume, much that you’ve gone through and that I don’t know much about, aside from or in relation to what you told me tonight, I will not go looking for anything. It’s your own past, Dean; you have control over whether I should know or not, when I should know.”

Dean shook his head, and Castiel moved a little closer. He let his hands come up and looked Dean in the eyes, asking for permission before he let his hands rest on the man’s face.

“There is no pressure from me for you to tell me. I am quite patient,” Castiel smiled delicately.

Dean’s face squished a bit as he looked down through Castiel’s hands, writing something else on the receipt.

I’m damaged goods. What do you want with me?

“No,” Castiel muttered softly. “If you were damaged or broken, you would have stopped living a long time ago. You are doing more than anyone who lived through whatever you did has. ”

Dean went to speak, but Castiel shook his head.

“Even if you were tell me everything now, I would still tell you the same thing. I firmly believe it, Dean.”

Castiel racked his brain for something, anything that would erase the sad disbelief that Dean was looking at him with.

“This will be a terrible comparison, but you are a can of corn.” Dean gave him a strange look, but Castiel continued with his face set straight. “You have had your label ripped off of you and you have been tossed around a few times on the floor and in the grocery bag, but you still have good corn inside of you.”

Dean blinked.

“Do you understand?”

And Dean began to laugh. Hard.

Tears sprung through his tightly clenched eyes, and the most wonderful laugh, deep and warm and throaty, left his throat. Dean threw his head back, laughing into the winter air. Castiel couldn’t help but laugh a little, too.

“I guess that comparison was a bit, er, bad.”

“N..not at all.”

 

“I would like to be around for as long as you would allow me.” Castiel spoke honestly.

“Going nowhere, Cas,” he said firmly, a small smile still on his face.

Castiel’s hand had fallen and was now held in Dean’s scarred hand, warm and inviting. He felt his heart beat faster in his chest. If Cas had thought Dean’s voice had been sexy with one worded conversations, he could only imagine what his sentences were like..
“Dean, may I kiss you again?” Castiel brought his eyes up to look into the shining green ones.

Dean, who drew in a sharp breath, letting his cold skin adjust to the warm touch of Castiel’s fingers, shook his head yes. He was smiling, his body leaning closer into Castiel’s air, and Castiel was happy. He was happy with this. He was happy with just the cold winter air, and with Dean.

Their lips met, cold one’s against chapped ones, and it was blissful. His nose bumped against his, but Castiel liked this. He liked kissing Dean.

Them, Dean backed him up slowly, pushing him up against a brick wall. His mouth was heavy on Dean’s, warm and still tasting of his birthday dinner. Castiel’s cheeks flushed under the hands that were now holding his face, and he let his hands slide down to his shoulders, his waist. Dean’s tongue ran over his bottom lip. Castiel groaned. Then, with another small kiss, Dean pulled back a little bit to meet Castiel’s eyes. His green eyes were shining in the street lights with a trace of panic dancing behind his gaze.

“A while,” Dean almost whispered. Castiel understood.

“Take your time. Feel free to do it again. I give you permission.”

Castiel was breathless, but he didn’t push Dean away when he dove in for more. This time, Castiel moved and made Dean lean against the wall, letting his hand grip Dean’s shirt. He could feel Dean’s smile against his lips.

The kiss didn’t last too long, and Dean pulled away. Castiel could see his face drain its color, and ghost of horror replaced his previously happy expression.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes were trained far off and behind him, Castiel suspected. As he turned, he found himself unsurprised by the fact that John Winchester was walking at full speed towards the two men.

John stood tall, taller than Castiel and Dean, and with his hands pushed into his pocket. He looked as if he were pushing himself forward, angry and with a purpose ass he walked their way. Castiel surged his hand out for Dean’s, feeling the man’s cold fingers shake once he grasped them. He squeezed.

John stood in front of them now.

“So you’re a fag now?”

Castiel’s stomach turned. He felt nauseous. He should have expected this, although John was much more different in the coffee shop and in the supermarket.

As he went to take another step towards Dean, Castiel instantly stepped in front of him. He could feel the anger rising from the pit of his stomach to his cold cheeks. John looked momentarily shocked, but quickly recovered, clenching his fists at his sides.

“I knew it. It was you,” John seethed before he looked around him to Dean. “Is this the cocksucker that turned you out? You a cocksucker now?”

Castiel remained silent, staring into the red rimmed, drooping eyes that belonged to the man. John was most definitely drunk.

“Couldn’t get enough of Alastair, could you?”

“That is enough,” Castiel raved, releasing Dean’s hand and pushing him back a bit as he watched John’s hand clench again. “I suggest that you be quiet and leave. Now.”

Castiel did not need to look back to know that Dean was lost to him. He wanted so badly to turn around and be there for the other man, but he needed to worry about getting the man causing harm away from Dean first.

“That is my son!” John roared and pointed a finger past Castiel’s head. “I can say whatever I damned please to that little gay son of a bitch!”

What happened next surprised even Castiel.

His fist knocked a solid punch into the right cheek of John Winchester. Then, Castiel was punched hard in the face, his eye pounding hard and his body falling from the unexpected blow. The kicking began. His ribs cried for a guard and his arms and legs curled in on themselves to protect Castiel’s body.

A broken voice screamed out, "Stop!"

Chapter Text

Calling your name in the midnight hour

Reaching for you from the endless dream

So many miles between us now

But you are always here with me

Susie Suh - Here With Me

 

His head was throbbing. It was as if someone took a brick and broke it over his head.

Perhaps they did.

Something kept kicking at his stomach. Hard. Oh, it hurt.

Dean. Where was Dean?

Castiel’s hands were drawn over his head, wincing with every kick. It stopped. By the front of his shirt, he was hoisted up and into a face. The scent of liquor was heavy, and goodness he could use a keg right about now. The face was saying something.

John Winchester, wasn’t it? It was hard too make out the man’s face. He tried to open his eyes wider, but could only groan as the throbbed on his face.

Everything was throbbing. Why was everything throbbing?

Something thick was flowing down the side of his face.

Everything was humming silence, but he was pretty sure someone was screaming.

Being able to crack his eye left eye farther than the right, he looked around. John shook him a few times, trying to grab Castiel’s attention, but Castiel was too far out. Instead, the man looked his drunk senior in the eye. Something did not settle right in his eyes.

“You’re not John.”

John’s face broke out into a grin.

Then, he was gone.

And Castiel was on the floor again.

He couldn’t see anymore.

--

Black edges pulled backed like a focusing camera.

Feet were in his view again, and someone was picking him up again, this time much gentler than the last.

Someone, Benny by the bright ginger color of his hair, held him up at a distance. His mouth was moving, but everything was spinning, focusing. Unfocusing and focusing. He decided he’d concentrate on the man’s eyes. Yeah. That would be easier.

Someone was crying. He wanted to hug them.

Another was shouting orders.
He felt like he was drifting.

--

Through his one semi-functioning eye, he spotted John’s limp body on the concrete. His face was on it’s side and in the snow.

Then something cold was placed on his right eye.

Sound came back suddenly, and Castiel could only wince at the sound of Dean’s panicked breathing and mixture of voices around him. Bobby had been the one shouting orders, holding a phone to his ear and pacing. Rufus stood off with Benny, helping him pull John to a stand. John’s head slumped and he struggled pathetically against the two men’s grips.

“....and Rufus, gotdammit, make sure that bastard doesn’t try ‘n leave!”

Jo stood off to the side with Mary cradling and wrapping he hand with a torn clothe. Jo was speaking, but Castiel could tell by he shaking shoulders and the tears streaming down her angry face that she wasn't making much sense with her words. His sight fuzzed over again.

--

Sarah, he noticed in front of him, was holding something cold against his eye. It dripped. Snow. She was saying something, but Cas was having a hard time following her words.

“...feeling? Do you feel that?.....if its a yes.....”

Castiel winced at the light fingers against his stomach, gasping when a large amount of snow settled there. He could see black at the edge of his vision. He could hear Dean’s heavy breathing.

“...ambulence on it’s way and they’ll put him in the hospital if he doesn’t calm down!” Charlie panicked, trying to pry the paper bag from Sam. “You’re making it worse!”

“Maybe an institute is what’s best,” Sam retorted,dropping the bag and staring up at Charlie.

Castiel’s aching hand shook and he settled it on the cold concrete. Dean needed him.

As he attempted to pull himself up, Sarah settled a gentle hand on him.

“No, Castiel. You broke a rib and you could puncture a lung!”

“Dean.”

--

“Dean,” his lip swelled “‘m gonnna hold y’hand, kay?”

He waited for the other man to blink before taking his scarred hand.

“C-Cas.” He swallowed.

--

His head was leaned back against the brick wall when the ambulance arrived. Dean’s head was in his lap, eyes closed tight, but his breathing much easier than it was a few minutes ago. One hand held Dean’s while the other rested on his

As the EMTs got closer, the black edges did too.

Then, that was it.

Chapter Text

If it keeps on rainin', Levee is gonna to break

When the Levee breaks, I'll have no place to stay

Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good

When the Levee breaks, mama, you got to move

Led Zeppelin - When The Levee Breaks

--

He didn’t know what happened.

No, that was a lie. He knew what happened.

He just couldn’t make sense of it.

All he could hear was Cas’ words, worming their way into his chains and breaking them. Cas’ hands were reaching into his little nightmare and holding his hand. He didn’t yank him out and he didn’t leave him there alone. He just stayed with him.

As the memory slipped, and his eyes began to unclench, he could feel Cas’ hands caressing his shoulder, a thumb rubbing circles over the curves and the scars hidden under his long sleeved shirt.

Then people were standing over them when he pried his eyes open. Blue. They were wearing blue.

“Sir, can you hear me?”

It was a woman.

“If you understand what I am saying, then just hold up a finger.”

Dean didn’t realize how tired he was.

He was so very tired.

His body ached with every movement, but he lifted his hand, holding a finger up.

“Okay, good,” The woman smiled delicately in the cold night, and her brown hair whipped around her face. Quickly, she pulled it into a ponytail. “I’m going to need you to sit up, okay?”

He shook his head. They were gonna take Cas. He knew it.

The woman frowned, and then she turned to the man edging closer behind her. “Stand back, Aaron. If we touch him, then he might flip.”

“His name is Dean,” someone provided, Charlie, from the end where Dean’s legs were.

“Dean?” The woman looked at him again. “Hey, Dean? We really need you to get up. Your friend is hurt badly and he might have a concussion.”

Dean stared at her through wide eyes, and his brain started to settle. His heart was still beating in his chest, he checked. Even if it was fast, he still could feel it beating in his chest. He swallowed.

The woman spoke again, “We gotta get him to a hospital. Can you sit up for me? Please?”

He swallowed again. This was really bad, he finally realized.

“Cas,” he said.

“Cas? Is that his name?”

Dean shook his head. He needed to get up now.

Slowly, he moved his arms to the concrete and balanced out his weight, pushing himself up to sit up from under Castiel’s arm. Castiel’s hand fell limp in his lap, and Dean was suddenly too afraid to look up at him. This was his fault.

Cas was hurt because of him.

Cas was hurt.

Because of him.

He turned his head to the brown eyes peering at him now. There was movement next to him, and he could see a gurney being pushed towards him, and Dean just had to look.

He turned his head.

The gasp that escaped his lips could not be his own.

Dean’s stomach gave a violent lurch.

Blood covered a portion of Castiel’s face, black and blues peaking out from the thick red, and a knot formed at the front of his head. His eyes were swollen shut, one puckering more than the other. His bottom lip swelled and was split at the left corner.

Dean couldn’t figure out where the blood was coming from.

The hand that was holding Dean’s was marred with swelling knots while the other was twisting in an odd angle.

The trench coat was balled up on the side of him. His shirt was torn open.

Jesus Christ.

So much blue. And black. And red.

The colors were vivid and alarming against Castiel’s body, and God he couldn’t look anymore. He reached for the trenchcoat, and held it tightly in his grasp, his hands shaking. Everything was shaking.

So much.

“Hey, Dean. They’re gonna take him now, okay?”

The words were spilling from the woman’s mouth, and Dean understood them. But he didn’t understand them.

“They’re going to take him to the hospital,” she said as he listened to the rustle on his right side. Someone counted to three and there was a small protest of metal against metal. Then, in his blurring vision, he watched as the took Castiel away on the gurney.

Suddenly, he was on his knees. Warm, burning liquid poured from his mouth, his hands held him up on against the concrete, and he could feel his knees scrape under his jeans. His stomach lurched inward, outward, inward again. A soothing hand rubbed at his back. A few dry heaves later, and Dean sat back, sure that his insides were empty.

“Honey,” he could hear his mother’s voice through the white blur of sound.

The sound of sirens finally became audible to him. They were loud and close. He could hear people speaking beneath the sound, could see the police officers piling John Winchester into the back of one of the ambulance cars, and could feel his own body shaking.

What happened?

"Dean," the woman spoke firmly, "are you with me?

He shook his head yes.

“You’ve experienced trauma, Dean. It may be best if we take you to a hospital.”

No.

“No,” he barked sharply, pushing himself further into the brick wall that he was sitting up against, withdrawing from the woman’s hand that was outstretched to him.

His mom came into view, slowly and hesitantly placing a hand on his arm and rubbing in circular motion, hoping to calm him down.

“He..Dean has had a very bad experience with hospitals,” Mom spoke softly, directing her eyes to the woman’s brown ones. “He’d prefer it if he could avoid it."

The woman sighed, looking at Dean with a meaningful look, and she looked to be thinking.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Are you hurt at all?”

Dean took a moment to himself. Then he shook his head.

“Alright. I’m just going to check you over in the van. Is that okay?” When Dean tensed, she gave him a small smile. “You won’t have to go to a hospital, I promise.”

No hospital. Dean sighed in relief. He shook his head in agreement.

“Can you stand up?”

On shaky limbs, he pushed himself up, only stumbling a little. His leg had fallen asleep. Mary went to help him, but he flinched away from her calm hand.

He didn't notice his mother’s frown.

The woman turned, pointing a finger to one of the trucks that idled on the side of the street, and said, “We’re going right there. Are you okay enough to follow me, Dean?”

He thought he shook his head.

His legs moved on their own, and he watched in a blur as he was lead to the flashing truck. A man came out of the truck, holding a large container that looked too much like a cooler, and set it to the side. He was awfully attractive, even Dean had to admit that in his haze, and was a little shorter than Cas’ brother. The man looked at him with brown eyes, as if he recognized Dean, but said nothing as he began to unload the container.

Tessa began to give Dean his small examination. She checked for bruises, ignoring the smooth scar tissue underneath most of his tattoos, and instructed for him to follow her finger, look into the flashlight, say his full name.

Mary was off to the side, watching with a careful look on her face, and Sarah stood next to her on the phone, speaking fast and glancing at Dean occasionally. Sam was no where to be found. Neither was Jo.

“Jo?” He queried softly.

Tessa lifted her head from the bandage she was wrapping around Dean’s hand. He wince, finally noticing the cut on his hand.

“The blonde? She’s alright,” Tessa smiled a little bit. “She has a helluva punch, I’ll tell you that. Knocked the drunk right over.”

Dean’s lips twitched. Of course, it was Jo.

“She just has a twisted wrist, I believe. I think the big guy took her to the hospital to get it checked.”

Dean shook his head. Tessa reached into the bag and pulled out a tissue, handing it over to him with a small smile.

He looked at her in confusion for a while, then felt his face a little.

Tears.

“You’re very quiet,” the man on the woman’s side, Aaron, said as he passed a blood pressure machine to Tessa.

Dean shrugged his shoulder, and Tessa spoke softly. “Are you mute?”

Hesitantly, Dean shook his head yes, then stuttered out, "Selective." This was the first time he’d ever admitted to being mute.

Tessa smiled, “I’ll be right back.”

She hopped into the truck and disappeared. The man with brown eyes moved in front of him, putting his hand out for him to take. Dean gave him a questioning look.

“You have a long cut on your hand.” The man smiled at him, “don’t want them to get infected now, do you?”

Dean kept staring at him.

Slowly, he looked at his own hand. It had been clenched into a fist, and the blood from the cut dripped from it. A long line, red and furious from irritation, sat in the middle of his hand. He gave him his hand, his heart erratically ramming away in his chest. His face was flushing slowly, and he could feel the red creeping up to his ears. The man, his name tag read Aaron, worked quietly, only responding to Tessa when she asked him where the thermometer was.

Then, quietly, Aaron said, “Dr. Juane is serving life in jail, y’know?”

Dean froze. His heart stopped.

Dr. Juane.

He hadn’t heard that name in years.

Brown eyes were staring into his now, intently and with something careful.

Dr. Juane.

“I testified for you because..I know. I just.”

Tessa came ambling out of the ambulance with a small box.

“I have to check your temperature, your blood pressure, and then you’re good to go. Aaron, are you done?”

“Yeah,” he said as he cut the bandage, placing a small metal piece to hold it in place.

As Aaron cleaned up the equipment, Tessa replaced him, and placed the arm piece to the blood pressure machine around his upper arm.

“Thanks,” Dean croaked out before Tessa placed the thermometer in his mouth, hoping Aaron would hear him.

Aaron, with the same expression of shock on his face as Tessa, nodded his head in acceptance. Packing away the last of his equipment, he hopped into the truck.

“You blood pressure is high, but that’s expected,” Tessa said absently. She unlatched the arm piece and wrapped it back up.

“And your temperature is fine,” she hummed when she pulled the thermometer from his mouth. “Okay, Dean, you’re good to go.”

That’s when Mary came back into view.

“Come on, Dean. Sam’s waiting with the car.”

He stares at her for a moment. A sinking feeling pools his stomach, and his hands shake a little as he pulls himself up to stand. Mary offers an arm, and Dean hesitantly fits underneath his mother’s hold. She’s much shorter than him, at least by good half of a foot, but Dean can’t help feeling like a child in his mother’s hold.

“Cas.” Dean mutters quietly. Tessa looks up as she pulls her gloves off.

“From the look of things, “she says, pushing the back doors closed, “the worst that your friend may have is a concussion and broken ribs, but no one will know for sure until he’s looked over.”

With a shake of his head, Dean mutters a soft thank you. Mary squeezes his shoulder softly and pulls him towards the other direction.

To be honest, Dean wasn’t even sure of how he was walking.

Or how he got into the car.

He closed his eyes, and rested his head against the fabric of his mother’s jeans, feeling her hand come to rest in his hair.

They’re talking. He doesn’t care.

“If it keeps on rainin', levee is gonna to break...”

Mary is humming something.

“...when the Levee breaks, I'll have no place to stay...”

Oh. Okay.

Sarah, he thinks, is yelling at Sam in the passenger seat.

“...trying to do is institutionalize him against his w...”

“Don't it make you feel bad? When you're trying to find your way home...” Mary’s voice is soft, comfortable.

“..can’t do that, Sam! You just can’t! Do you know how wrong that is?” Jesus..”

Sarah’s voice wasn’t.

“I’m only trying to help him! I’m just giving him a push.”

Neither was Sam’s.

“...Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good...”

Too much.

It was too much.

He clenched his eyes tightly.

It was all too much.

“He’s mentally ill!”

“Dammit, Sam, he’s fucking human,” Sarah growled in response.

“....No, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good...”

Too much.

“He needs help an-”

“And he’ll decide that on his own fucking terms. He will not be institutionalize just because you can deal with the fact that he is not okay, right now!”

“..When the Levee breaks, mama, you got to move.”

"Too much."

An ugly, broken sound came from his mouth. It was so striking to his own ears, and so heavily weighted on his own chest, that Dean could not believe that it came from his own mouth.

But it did.

He was crying.

No, he was in hysterics.

And as heart wrenching it was in his own chest, it felt damn good.

It felt damn good to cry.

--

Chapter Text

Fight, gun held to a father's son at night

Cross stripped underneath their thumbs

And burn like the best end of a cigarette

And oh, night sings ooh, ooh, ooh

Emma Louise - Night Song

Dean never liked the smell of blood. Even as a kid, when his cuts were minuscule and only squeezed a drop of blood, he looked away from the crimson color. Growing up, when Sammy would fall, he would care for his clumsily attained cuts, but hold his breath when blood was involved.

That hadn’t changed much.

But with all of the blood Dean had seen, most of it being his own, he thought he reacted minimally to the other night.

When he reached home the night before, Mary led him to the bathroom and sat outside of the door until he emptied his stomach. Sam and Sarah we’re still arguing, muffled from where they were in the kitchen. Dean’s fingers pressed hard into the porcelain bowl, it was only that he realized that he was in his mother’s home.

That night, he crawled into the bed in his old room and pulled the covers up to his neck.

Now, he lay in the same position, only moving once to turn on his side and only getting up to use the bathroom or eat. He could smell the cinnamon scent leak through the cracks of his door, which meant that Mary or Sam was making oatmeal. He guessed by the way that the light filled his room that it was noon.

Oatmeal, Mary’s specifically, was his favorite.

He didn’t move, though.

Instead, he studied the scratches on the wall that he faced. His old room was almost the same as he left it when he was 13. The posters were taken down, and the sheets adorn in little cars were traded in for simple green sheets, however, this was the room that Dean spent a good portion of his childhood in. The ceiling was still covered in the glow in the dark stars he put up there when he was 5, and his small treasure chest still sat in the corner of the room.

“I couldn’t get rid of it. I didn’t want to,” his mother said once with watery eyes.

For a few moments, he just stared at the wall. Things used to be so much easier when he was a kid. He didn’t have to worry about having an anxiety attack or triggering a flashback when he was out with his mom. He didn’t have to worry about his scars showing when he went swimming. He didn’t have to worry about people looking at him with pity-filled eyes when they saw him.

“Easy,” muttered to himself.

He looked at the treasure chest again. If only he could go back.

Slowly, he untangled his legs from the soft blanket. He stepped over his discarded pants and sat in front of the small chest. As he unlatched it, he wondered if he would remember his old toys.

The first thing he laid eyes on was the beaten up barbie doll that lay with it glittering smile in the back of a tow truck. It’s pink dress was scribbled over with a green marker, and little green dashes were drawn across her cheeks.

“Barbies can be in the army, too!” He remembered a pig tailed, crooked tooth Jo yelling in his 12 year old face.

Dean smiled a little. G. I. JoAnna.  It took a lot of convincing and the green scribble on the dress before Mary had finally decided that her Barbie’s deserved army clothes.

He put the doll in his lap and looked through the rest of the treasure chest. A small tub a playdoh sat in one of the hollows of his moon shoes. He made a face.

Then, the door open. The smell of cinnamon and oatmeal wafted his nose and made him turn his head. His mother, with her hair tied up on top of her head and a kind smile stretching at the corners of her mouth, walked into the room. A small bowl was balanced on a plate in one hand while her other hand held a first aid kit.

“Morning, honey.”

Dean tried a smile.

“The oatmeal’s hot, so I figured I could wrap your hand while it cools.”

As she pulled a chair from his desk, she let her eyes wander to the doll still sitting in his lap. Mary’s shoulders fell a little bit, and a small sound came from her mouth. Dean sat confused, looking down at the doll then back up at his mother only to find her sitting in the chair with her hands supporting her tear stained face in her lap. The bowl was on his bed, sitting on top of the first aid kit.

Shocked, Dean moved closer to his mother, rubbing her arm comfortingly before pulling a hand from her face. She looked at him through her teary blue eyes and sighed, putting her other hand down. Dean took on her hands and held it.

“I’m sorry, honey. It’s just that,” she exhaled heavily, “that was the last thing your father had of yours that he gave us after you went missing.”

Dean clenched his jaw, but kept the hand hold his mother’s soft one at the same grip.

“We saw him at the very beginning a-and...” she paused, wiping the stray tears from her cheeks with her other hand. “Jo. It broke her heart. She thought-we all thought we lost you.”

 

“Are you going forever?” Dean remembered a wide eyed Jo asking, swinging her legs over the the space between her and the floor.

“No, don’t be dumb,” Dean scoffed. He failed a few times to zip his oversized suitcase. “Can you come sit on this?”

Jo rolled her eyes, her ponytail swinging when she pushed herself down from the bed and walked over to where Dean kneeled. She plopped down, her tattered doll in her lap, and crossed her legs over each other. Dean zipped the bag all the way to the other side and smiled triumphantly. He looked up at Jo to find her fiddling with the arms of her doll, brows crossed in frustration.

“Jo?”

“I’ll see you again?”

“Jo,” Dean sighed, “you’ll see me again, I promise. Dad’ll bring me back, and I’m staying weekends and stuff.”

“Uncle John won’t wanna bring you back,” Jo said quietly. Her lip quivered, and she held the doll a little tighter in her lip.

Dean knudged her over and plopped down next to her on the suitcase, putting an arm around her shoulder. “What makes you say that, Jo?”

She shrugged her little shoulders, “Jus’ a feelin’. Uncle John’s not nice. Do you have to go?”

“Dad’s not okay right now. I have to help him get better.”

“Okay,” she muttered.

Dean squeezed her shoulder tightly before hugging her.

“Don’t worry. Jo,” he rubbed her back comfortingly. “I’m coming back.”

She hugged him back and shook her head in his shoulder. Once Dean pulled back, he ruffled her ponytail, in which Jo responded with a punch to his arm.

“Ouch,” he chuckled.

Jo, who was now looking down at her army barbie, looked back at Dean. She thrust the doll at him and stood up from the suitcase.

“Take care of her for me. She’s my tough one,” she said, crossing her arms over chest.

Dean smiled at her, unzipping the small pocket of his suitcase and putting the doll inside carefully.

“Got it. And don’t break any of my things when I’m not here.”

At this, the blonde smiled wide and skipped to the door.

 

Dean squeezed his mother’s hand, hoping to comfort her in some way. He decided he’d stand instead, and he pulled his mother into a hesitant, but firm hug.

“Here.”

Mary chuckled out a sob, squeezing Dean in her arms and shaking her head.

“I know, I know.”

Dean held on a little longer, then pulled away when he felt it was okay and brought a box of tissues from his nightstand. Mary smiled a watery smile, thanking him silently as she took a tissue.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I’m just. A lot of things in this room bring back memories.”

“Same,” Dean muttered.

Once he was sure that Mary was sound, he let her go, choosing to sit on the bed rather than the floor. He pulled the first aid kit from under the palte, placing the plate on the nightstand, and handed the kit to his mother. Mary smiled and scooted the chair over and in front of Dean.

“Gabriel called this morning with an update on Cas.”

Dean listened.

“He has some broken ribs on his left side and a concussion. He also broke his wrist and has a few minor cuts and bruises. They’re keeping him there for a few days since he has so many injuries. They don’t want to send him home and overwhelm him with the pain and the medication. Give me your hand.”

Dean sighed and put his hand out for Mary to redress.

“Too much,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“I know, baby,” she muttered comfortingly. “I’m sorry.”

As she unwrapped his hand, she examined the cut. Pulling out a small alcohol pad, she cleaned off the dried blood, looked at the stitches once more, and applied a small amount of ointment on the cut.

“Your father is also in custody. Officer Mills was livid about what happened, but she’s mostly glad that they’ve finally caught him.”

“J...jail?” Dean hesitated on the word.

“Most definitely,” Mary huffed out, finally deciding to wrap Dean’s hand. “He’s wanted for a lot of things. S’got a lot of charges hanging over his head.”

Dean felt a kind of relief settle in his chest. It was hesitant, and it was heavy in the way that it spread through Dean’s veins. He felt his shoulders fall limp, his head hanging a little lower as he processed the information. It was hard to believe.

Mary’s eyebrows were furrowed when he looked up, a sad smile on her face as she ran a soft hand through her son’s hair.

“Sam’s still here. He’s worried about you.”

Suddenly, Dean’s ears were filled with Sam’s demanding voice. Something hot settled in his chest as he remembered the fuzzy details from the day before yesterday.

“He needs to be institutionalized,” Dean recalled the younger firmly demanding multiple times.

At the sudden change in his demeanor, Mary sighed and rubbed his hand.

“I’ll admit, he was being too big of an asshole.” Dean’s eyebrows quirked, and Mary smiled. “It surprised me, and I would’ve handed his ass to him,” she said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “I was too worried about you. Sarah did it for me.”

“Sarah?” Dean questioned.

“You bet,” she chuckled, “practically screamed at him the entire ride home.Threaten to cut his hair off. When he asked why, all she said was that it was ‘messing with his logic.’”

At this, the corner of Dean’s lip quirked. There was a reason he liked her. He could hear bits of her angry voice tearing through the memory he had of the car ride. He wondered if she was still here.

“She promised she’d stop by and see you today, if it were okay with you. She stopped by yesterday, but you’d been asleep then entire day.”

He hummed in recognition. Then, Mary stood.

“I’m going to go and finish the laundry. Benny stopped by with some of your clothes yesterday. They should be in the dresser.”

Once she left, closing the door behind her, Dean decided to eat some of the oatmeal. His phone sat on the nightstand next to his alarm clock. The screen was cracked  single line, scuffed at the corners, and the glass on the back was shattered. He sighed as he pulled both the plate and the phone to himself. As he sat cross legged, taking careful spoons of the still-too-hot oatmeal, he scrolled through his messages.

Gabriel (Yesterday, 11:30 am) Deano, Jo told me you have a thing with hospitals. Just know it’s all good

Gabriel (Yesterday, 11:34 am) He’s not awake yet, but I will let you know when he is. How’s a video chat for you guys sound?

Gabriel (Yesterday, 11:30 am) And I hope you’re feeling alright. I’m dropping a pie by your house sometime tomorrow.

Jo (Yesterday, 2:30 pm) Hey Dean, I hope you’re alright <3. I know you won’t want to talk about it, but I’m here if you wanna.

Jo (Yesterday, 2:31 pm) And I swear to God if you come into work today I’m calling Bobby and kicking your ass

Benny (Today, 7:01 am) Hey brother I brought some clothes by yesterday in case Mary forgot to tell you. I’ll probably swing by with Jo tomorrow, if its all good with you.

Dean responded to the texts as he finished off his oatmeal and sent the three a few okays.

Day Six

Dean adapted a new routine.

Every morning, he woke up, redressed his hand, and went to work. He’d work until 9 pm and then get chased out by Jo to go home. He’d then head to Mary’s house and have dinner with her before heading up to his room. Then, he’d text Gabriel for updates.

After Gabriel swung by the other day with updates on Castiel, Dean fell into a deeper silence. He couldn’t find the will to make himself speak, nor did he really want to talk. Something, guilt he supposed, was blocking the airway to his vocal box. Hopelessness played a role in it, too. Words were pointless.

No one forced him to talk, either. There was an understanding.

The information didn’t make his ability to sleep any better. When Dean laid in his bed and began to drift off to sleep, he found himself jolting upright with images of Castiel’s limp, bloody body being kicked continuously by a drunk John Winchester. Some nights, he screamed. He knew when he screamed when he would find Mary at the edge of his bed when he opened his nights.

Some nights, he dreamed of a white hospital room, a bed with handcuffs, and yellow eyes. However, those were rare.

Today was a little different.

Jo closed the coffee shop up that day.

“Benny’s taking me to get the hand checked out again,” she said in a voicemail.

So, instead of going back to sleep, Dean pulled himself from bed and went downstairs. His bare feet were cold against the hardwood, but the house was warm enough. He roamed the house, looking for his mother, only to find a sticky note on the door.

Grocery shopping. I’m making soup today :) - Mom

Dean opted for a cup of black coffee, only taking a bite of bacon before his shoved his boots on. His jacket was hanging on the hook where Benny left it a few days ago.

He grabbed the extra keys in the bowl next to the door and left the house, locking the door behind him. He figured that a walk would do him some good.

His gloved fingers poked at the keys in his wallet, and he buried his head a little deeper into his scarf. Even with the end of January being a few days away, it was still fairly cold and small snowflakes swirled in the air. Dean couldn’t tell if it were freshly fallen snow or the wind blowing them from the tree. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the feeling of the cold bits melting on his face.

He watched his boots scuff and kick mounds of snow in front of him, and suddenly wondered what his life would’ve been like if he hadn’t been taken away.

It wasn’t a very comforting thought.

However, he couldn’t help wondering, feeling the lump rise in his throat, but his heart beat calmly. What would his life have been like?

Maybe he would be in college? Dean scrunched up his face. Nah.

Well, he’d have friends, for one.

Dean chuckled bitterly. But, as kicked a chunk of snow in his route, a small frown settled on his face.

He did have friends.

And he’d be damned if he didn’t give them their credit.

They stuck around on his birthday, before and after John Winchester ruined the night, and they did all that they could to make sure that Dean was alright. Hell, Jo punched the guy and Castiel ended up in the hospital that night. Charlie did as much damage control as she could, alongside Benny. And Sarah. He couldn’t forget Sarah.

Yeah, sure, if his life were different, he wouldn’t be in the mess that he were in. But, if his life were different, he wouldn’t have all of these people, so willing and so ready to stand by him in times of need.

They wanted to be in his life. They wanted to be around.

Why?

He couldn’t understand.

He wouldn’t understand. He simply accepted it.

And as Dean continued his walk, he made a small note in the back of his mind to text Charlie later. Maybe.

--

“Dean?” Mary queried from the kitchen as Dean closed the front door. A few seconds later, her head peaked out of the doorway. “There you were. I figured you went on a walk when I saw your boots missing. How was it?”

Dean smiled. A feeling of familiarity and relief washed over him. He watched Mary smiled back warmly as he pulled the scarf from his neck, pulling the rest of his outer wear off and hanging them up.

“Hey, she said as Dena took a step forward. “Boots.”

He gave a small chuckle and eye roll, and he toed his boots off easily. Mary disappeared into the kitchen and Dan followed, listening to his own feet pad against the floor. He was welcomed with a warm mug and a finger directed at one of the empty stools.

“We need to have a talk, hun.”

Dean squinted. Mary sighed.

“Dean, please. It’s important,” she said, letting one side of her mouth quirk up, grabbing her own mug.

Dean took his seat in the stool, taking a short sip from his mug and setting down on the marble island. Mary sat diagonally from him.

“Let me see your hand?”

He lifted his hand and settled it in her waiting hand. Gently, she turned it over and looked at the bandage carefully. Then, she puffed out a short breath.

“Honey, I think it would be good that you see Dr. Shurley soon.”

Dean looked at her, unsure and tentative as he took his hand from her’s.

“Please,” she pleaded quietly. “Hear me out. I honestly think it would help you. Whenever you come back from him, you’re always a little brighter.”

Dean frowned.

“I don’t want to sound like a doctor,” Mary started, cringing inwardly as she watched Dean frown even more deeply, “but Tuesday....your birthday was too traumatic for you to not be affected by it.”

When he didn’t move or look at her, she continued, “I know about your nightmares and you’ve been so closed off lately. You don’t even talk to Sam-”

Dean huffed.

“-though I understand that with good reason. But Dean...too much has happened. Too much, and I..” Mary’s voice shook a little, and Dean watched her quikly glance to the side of the room as she swept past her eye. “I-I just want to see you get better.”

With a hesitant nod of his head, he met his mother’s eyes.

“At least think about it?”

He nodded his head again, firmer this time. He’d think about it, honestly.

That night, Sam came over to have dinner with them. Dean opted to eating in his room.

He couldn’t sleep well that night, too.

Day Ten

Today, Dean picked Jo up from her small apartment. She rubbed her hands together as she rounded the car, and Dean leaned over to open the car door. As she slid into the passenger set, Dean’s hand settled on the heat knob, turning it to its highest point, then pulling a pair of gloves from the compartment silently. Jo gratefully took them.

“My apartment has no heat,” she grumbled, pulling the grey gloves onto her pale hands.

“Mom’s?”

At this, Dean gave her a glance, returned by Jo with a weary look.

“I don’t know..I don’t want her to nag me, y’know?”

Dean scoffed, shifting the car into drive and backing out of the parking space.

“I’m serious!” Jo crossed her arms. “I told her I’d be able to live on my own without her help.”

Dean stopped the car for a second, giving her a furrowed brow and frown. How’s that working for you?

“Okay, so it’s not going to well but..but she’ll give me ‘the look.’ It’s embarrassing.”

Dean jutted his chin towards the heat knob and then shrugged his shoulders. Jo sighed.

“I’ll call her later,” Jo muttered stubbornly.

Dean pulled off without another word,

“How are things with you and Sam?”

Dean grunted.

“Dean.”

“Jo,” he said in a low voice.

“You should talk to him. Yeah, he’s an ass, but from what I heard from Sarah, he cares.”

Dean remained silent, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he turned a corner. He did not want to talk about this. Jo, however was not going to let it go.

“Dean, you should-”

“No.”

“Dean,” she raised her voice a little, “you have to talk to him.”

As he pulled up to a

Shakily, Dean responded quietly. “Can’t.”

He felt her eyes dig holes into his skin, and he wanted to hide. His hands began to shake on the steering wheel, and a small lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t talk to Sam. He couldn’t.

It was inexpiable.

Even at the mention of Sam, he could feel the crippling fear wrap its cold fingers around the anger the settled into his chest and squeeze at his lungs. It made him breathless, angry, and scared.

“Maybe I should drive,” Jo suggested. She unbuckled her seatbelt. Dean was wheezing, but he unbuckled his seatbelt. As they swapped seats, Jo kicking Dean by accidentally as she crawled over him, Dean settled his head against the cold window and closed his eyes. His heart thumped loudly in his ears, spreading the hard pulses to his fingers and his legs, and he tried to breath.

4 times in, 8 times out.

4 times in, 8 times out.

Jo drove quietly, only turning the radio’s dial up one notch to help ease Dean’s anxiety.

By the time she pulled into the parking space across the street from the cafe, Dean was calm and his heart was steady. The Yardbirds played through the speakers of his radio, giving Dean a sense of familiarity as he settled into his calm. Finally, he sighed in relief and sat back in his seat. Jo hadn’t moved at all since parking the car.

“Dean,” Jo said quietly. “‘m sorry. I...I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too.”

Dean looked up in time to watch a tear fall down Jo’s face.

“Yeah, surprising, right? I’m fucking crying,” she snarled, wiping harshly at the tears that were quickly falling. Dean moved to give her a tissue, but she pushed it from him.

“I don’t need that.”

Instead, Dean let it drop in her lap and frowned, waiting for her to talk again. She sighed finally, pulling the tissue up to her face and wiping.

“Dean, you’re my brother, okay? You’re my fucking brother,” her voice cracked. “And I know you know that Ma told us to back off and give you your time and space, but you’re my fucking brother!”

Dean flinched inwardly.

“John fucked you up bad. And tha-that man did you even worse,” she hiccupped, “and it’s so hard to sit here and watch from the sideline while you struggle. It’s really fucking hard, Dean. I’m not trying to undermine your struggles or nothin’, cause God, Dean, I don’t know how you’re doing it right now, but..fuck.” Her hands came up to her face, and a muffled sob escaped through the cracks.

Dean put his arms forward and pulled his sister towards him. A hand rubbed circles all around her back, feeling Jo’s body shake under his touch. Her head burrowed into his chest further and her hands left her face.

“You’re my brother,” he could hear her mutter into his shirt.

He continued to rub her back and hold her, resting his chin on her head.

“I can’t say it properly, but I want you to get it, okay? I need you to get it.” Jo breathed out. “For years, we’ve watched you try and pick up the old pieces of yourself a-and it was hard. Mom used to cry all the time, and Sam was so..so angry at John. He tried to find him a few times, and almost went after him each time, but Bobby and Benny always got to him first. And we had no idea how to help you for a really long time. We didn’t know. You didn’t trust us and it took so long to open you up.

“My point is that I love you. Bobby loves you, and so does Benny and Charlie and- Dammit everyone loves you, Dean. And we’ve watched you fight and try to be this-this person. And you were doing it, I swear to God, you were. And then John came around and fucked it all up. And I hate him even more for it. I hate him so damn much, it makes my chest hurt.”

Dean looked down at her and watched her sigh.

“I don’t want you to go back to square one. I don’t want you to go back. And I know, I’m all jumbled and a fucking mess,” she lifted her shoulders in resignation, “but I don’t want you to go back. So, yeah, you don’t have to talk to Sam if you don’t want to. He’s a piece of shit for what he did, and even he knows it, but you need to keep going. You have to. And you can’t shut us out again. You just can’t.”

And a feeling settled in Dean’s chest as he hugged Jo tightly.

“Okay,” was all he could manage.

When they walked into the shop, they were greeted by warmth, the trickling sound of Susie Suh’s soothing vocals, and the smell of raspberry biscuits. Benny whistled along to the beat, an old baseball cap turned backwards on his head as his arms worked at the table with a wet clothe. He greeted them with a warm smile.

“Mornin’,” he muttered.

Dean shook his head in acknowledgement, Jo moved passed wordlessly.

Confused, Benny followed Jo while Dean made his way to the  back room.

As Dean came back out, tying his apron around his waist securely, he caught site of Benny embracing Jo. His hand held her face carefully and his thumb wiped a stray tear.

“You okay?” he muttered quietly.

Jo gave him a silent nod, a reassuring smile peeking from his hand. She settled a hand over his as he leaned over and placed a kiss to her forehead. Dean looked away as he felt the red creep up his neck. That was a little awkward, he admitted silently.

As Dean went to work, taking orders and cleaning up the spilled coffee he came across, he thought of Cas. He wondered if Cas would wake up soon.

--

When Dean got off of his shift, Jo offered to bring him home. He declined, giving him an unsure look before giving him a firm punch to the chest. He winced.

“Text me in the morning,” Jo finally said, pulling the cafe door open and wandering back in.

And as Dean walked, he walked passed his car, kicking snow up with his boots and watching the snow blow off of the trees. He knew where he was going. He just didn’t need his car for it.

And as Dean rounded a corner, a small, black cat scurried passed his boot, hissing in a seemingly sardonic way. Its blue eyes pierced up at him and meowed softly. He’d regret it later, but he bent down and pet the stray between its ears. It purred,wrapping itself around Dean’s arm and nuzzling it’s head into his gloved hand.

It reminded him of Cas.

He stood up, feeling his back crack a bit as he stretched and adjusted his coat, and began walking.

Soon, Dean found himself, standing tall and unsure, in front of the familiar cherrywood door that held a small plaque; Dr. Charles Shurley, L.P.C., he read for a hundredth time. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on the knob He hadn’t much to lose, but thought of all he’d gain.

With a calm heart, swallowing the lump his throat, he turned the knob on the door and peaked his head through.

Dr. Shurley sat in his office, his glasses perched on his nose and a small ball in his hand. He threw it into the hop and raised his hand up in celebration as it went in.

“Yes!” He said quietly, spinning in his chair and shaking his fists in the air.

Dean cleared his throat and knocked. Dr. Shurley turned in his seat, casting his eyes on Dean and giving him an embarrassed smile.

"Ah, Dean," the short man stood from his chair, moving around his desk as he removed the glasses from his face. "Come on in. I wasn’t expecting you.”

He took a step in and shut the door behind him.

“I don’t have you scheduled,” Dr. Shurley muttered to himself as he flipped through his book, “however, I don’t have any appointments scheduled for today.” With that said, he took his seat in front of Dean and crossed his legs, pulling a pen from the cup on the coffee table and a notepad from the pocket of the chair. “What’s up, Dean?”

For a moment, Dean panicked. What was up?

What could he say? What did he come here for?

Then, he spoke.

“I..want,” he struggled. Chuck’s eyes shifted from the notebook and up to Dean.

“I want to t-talk. About Georgia.”

Chapter Text

I hope by the morning I will have grown back
By the morning I will have grown back
I'll escape with him
Show him all my skin
Then I'll go
I'll go home

Daughter - Amsterdam

 

When Dean was found, he was 839 miles from his home, chained from the feet up to a wood plank set up in the middle of a moldy, hot basement. He was malnourished and weak from lack of food and lack of movement. Sirens went off outside, and Dean could only see the red and blue lights through the dingy window. Alastair had left him on the chains to go investigate, and Dean noted the hint of fear in the man’s expression.

He heard muffled shouting, then a number of gun shots followed. Dean shut his eyes, pulling his arms against the chains in an attempt to shrink himself. More shouting could be heard, but all Dean could hear was the thump of his erratic heart in his chest. His open wounds across his body began to sting even more as the sweat trickled down on him.

“Search the house,” he’d heard from the ground above him. “Check if he had any hostages.”

Dean felt something coming up from his stomach and pulled his eyes shut. He’d hallucinated from time to time, sometimes even seeing a younger version of Sam sitting in front of him, staring up at him with his puppy-like eyes, but this had been the cruelest hallucination, he had thought.

Heavy footsteps could be heard all around the house, and then someone shook the door knob that lead to the basement.

“It’s locked,” someone said from the other side.

“Move back,” someone else said.

A few thumps sounded, as if someone were throwing their body against the door, and then Dean closed his eyes. Light flooded through the open door, and Dean was beyond scared. Slow, cautious footsteps descended the creaking stairs, and someone called out, “Is anyone down here?”

Nevertheless, even with the light flooding in from the door, the basement was a very dark place. Alastair’s favorite room, for obvious reasons. Dean heard the two voices muttering, and suddenly a light landed on his face.

“Holy...”

The footfalls came closer, faster until he felt someone stop in front of him. A cool hand landed on his neck, and Dean couldn’t help the small whimper that had escaped his mouth.

“He’s alive,” one voice practically choked out.

Dean finally opened his mouth. A man and a woman stood in front of him, the woman staring at his chained body and the man staring straight at him.

“We’re gonna need back up,” the other voice said urgently. “Bring something to cut chains, and call a bus.”

Dean blinked a few more times. The man in front of him crouched down and began fiddle with the chains on his feet , pulling something from his pocket and sticking it in the keyhole. He passed something similar up to the woman and she began to fiddle with the chains at his hands.

“I’m Detective Trenton, and this is my partner, Detective Parson.”

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” The questioned him.

Dean only blinked, feeling the overwhelming sink return back to his stomach. He tried his words, the lump in his throat having settled itself and making a home inside of him for years, and winced at the dryness of his mouth.

“De....Dean. M-My name is Dean.”

The man suddenly looked up, recognition illuminating his face and he dropped the pick in his hands.

“Dean Winchester?”

“Y-Yes.”

The woman finally looked at him, eyebrows scrunched together in contemplation, and the man stood straight after having finished with the chains.

“Your family has been looking for you for so long, Dean,” the man muttered.

Dean could only gulp. He couldn’t believe this.

Uniformed people filed down the steps second later, evaluating the scene quickly with their eyes before getting started. It wasn’t long until he was unchained from the post, and his knees shook under the pressure of his body and gravity pushing him down. The man, Cole, had an arm under his armpit, supporting him and walking him over to two other men. Dean was weary of them all, and too weak to fight off any help they offered. He didn;t trust them. This. This all had to be a joke.

Dean didn’t get rescued. Ever.

5 years. This all had to be some cruel hallucination, he thought.

The woman, Eve, came over to him with a woman dressed in blue. He was given a once over, and the woman touched him, earning a flinch and a weary look as Dean stumbled from her. Cole placed a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s only gonna look you over. We have to make sure you don’t have any broken bones before we leave.”

Leave.

The woman touched him again, and Dean held every inch of him as still as he could. The woman carefully grazed over his wounds, and hummed.

“Some of these are infected and he’s got a lot of bruising, but nothing dire.”

Cole nodded his head, and the woman walked up the stairs.

“We’re going to take you outside and into the ambulance. They’re taking you to a hospital to help you.”

One of the two men began to unfold an orange rolling chair in his hand, but Dean shook his head.

“I-I want to walk.”

Cole stared at him for a moment, and Dean felt himself shrink back a little under the man’s calm eyes. Then, he nodded his head.

“Can one of you pass me a blanket?”

One of the men passed him a blanket.

“This is just a precaution. You may or may not go into shock, and you’ll need this,” he said as he wrapped the blanket around Dean’s shoulders. “Ready?”

 

By the time Dean reached the middle of the stairs, he was sweating and panting more than before. Cole asked him once again if he was sure he wanted to walk, but Dean firmly nodded his head yes.

He finally reached the top of the stairs and was met by the eyes of 14 other officers. A few gasped, recognizing him immediately, while others continued their work, only sparing him a glance as he made his way through the door. Officer Eve walked in front of them, stopping at the door with a look to Dean before she opened it.

Light flooded in through the door. Dean brought a weak arm up to block his face, squinting against the bright light that flooded through his fingers. They kept walking towards the door.

Heaven, Dean thought distantly.

They finally got close enough to the door, and Dean stopped. An overwhelming feeling pressed down in his stomach, and he almost threw up. This can’t be real, he thought. Cole gave him a patient look, keeping his support under Dean’s arm steady as possible.

He took one step out of the door, and it felt as if an invisible barricade broke inside of his chest. He took a few more steps out of the door, squinting his eyes against the sun, feeling a breeze hit his bare legs. He walked further and felt his legs shake even more under his weight, but he stopped when he felt the grass underneath his feet. His toes scrunched up, ripping a few blades from their post in the dirt and feeling the mounds of dirt under his toes. They were cold and wet, just like Dean’s face.

He didn’t notice the tears that streamed endlessly down his face as he looked all around him. People were standing off in the distance, being held back by more men  in uniform and yellow barricades. An ambulance stood off to the side, a young man holding the doors open as a woman hopped out. The leaves on the trees ruffled as another wind blew past Dean. His dirty hair rumpled in the wind and flicked at his neck, but Dean didn’t care much.

He sniffed as he wiped his face, finding that the lump in his throat settled against his vocal box.

Dean finally looked at Cole with wide eyes. “

Cole smiled delicately, “Yeah, kid. You’re free.”

That moment was all Dean found himself thinking about through his sleepless nights. He tossed and turned in his bed, hoping his fussing wouldn’t wake Mary and Jo, but he couldn’t help it.

He looked up at his ceiling, finally, deciding that sleeping tonight would be impossible. Since he started his sessions back up with Dr. Shurley, he’d found himself unable to sleep. He’d been plagued with constant replays of whatever memories they discussed that day, and even though it was helping him, he couldn’t help the panic attacks that came and went outside of the office. He couldn’t help the constant shaking of his hands when he was serving up coffee at the cafe, sometimes getting so bad that Benny switched him over to clean up duty. He couldn’t help the extra jumpiness he experienced when the bells above the coffee shop door rang, or when someone would call his name, or any of the ridiculously troublesome hits of anxiety he experienced any and everywhere.

Being fucked up makes you jumpy, Dean thought bitterly.

But he was talking more. Since everything he had to say in therapy was too much to write on paper, he’d swallowed back the lump in his throat and spoke. Actual sentences were coming out of his mouth more often, though he liked using paper more than speaking.

Though, his voice reminded him of an unused car, rumbling and sometimes giving out, he didn’t mind it.

He thought of Cas. Cas still hadn’t woken up yet, which worried Gabriel beyond relief. The doctors, Gabriel told him, said that it was normal for the body to respond slowly after physical trauma.

He missed Cas.

Wearily, he turned onto his side, facing his body towards the clock. 2:34 am. He groaned.

He hadn’t meant to stop talking. The own sound of his voice before puberty made him cringe, made him want to curl up in a ball and cover his ears with his hands. It’s why he could never watch home movies with the family on Thanksgiving. When he heard his voice, he remembered his own screams, his broken cries for the sadistic man to give him a break, his failed prayers to God. He’d pray every chance he got, hoping the man upstairs would get him out of that place.

He supposed five years  was better than never, but he wouldn’t think about that. He shook his head.

After they took him to the hospital, he remembered being put under heavy medication, only catching bits and pieces of conversations between doctors and what he hoped to be his mother’s voice. Something about dislocated joints and “too much pain to handle”.

“It’s a miracle that he’s lived through all of that...torture.” One doctor fumbled over his words.

He remembered opening his eyes for the first time, half expecting to be back in the moist basement, only to find himself staring up at the stick on stars on a white walls.

For a moment, he thought of heaven again.

Heaven wouldn’t have stick on stars, he thought to himself.

Blinking a few times, bleary and little disoriented, he yawned. His jaw hurt, along with his cheeks and the back of his head. He was in a hospital, he thought. Relief fell over his body and he closed his eyes for a moment.He felt the wetness well up at the corners of his eyes and lifted a hand to wipe at it, only to be stopped by the odd pain that evaded his shoulder and the few wires that surrounded him

Right.

He assessed his damage mentally, wiggling his hands and feet minimally and wincing at pain that shot back at him. His arm was in a cast, his fingers poking out at the end, and his ankles were wrapped up underneath the hospital sheet. His left arm ached from his shoulder down. His back didn’t hurt, which he guessed was a result of the drugs they probably hiked him up on, but his entire torso, trailing up his arms, around his neck, and down his back were covered in gauze. He winced when he felt the dull pain creeping back from his back. Hopefully a doctor would come in soon.

From his left, someone snored softly. As he turned his head on the plush pillow, he’d found himself staring at a woman sleeping in a cushioned chair, a jacket covering her as a blanket and her head tilted to one side. A book lay in her lap, and a brown purse hung solemnly off of the armrest.

His mom.

She’d gotten older, he remembered noting to himself. She had a few crinkles around her eyes, worry lines across her forehead, and bags weighing heavily under her eyes. Aside from the marks from years of fatigue, she looked young. He remembered being in the basement, often being left to hang on the pole for a few hours, and he would try and hold onto the details of his mother. After a year, he couldn’t remember how she smelled, how bright her smile was, or how soft her voice was. He could only remember how soft her touch was up until now. Seeing her....seeing her stumped him a little.

Dean had imagined what seeing her again would be like, what it would feel like. During his time alone in the basement, he’d think of her, think of all the times she’d tuck him in or let him stay  up and watch TV shows with her.

He’d think of the time before the divorce, the last time he’d seen her. She’d gotten into a heavy fight with John, a screaming match that could be heard from Jo’s room. Dean had purposely turned the Led Zeppelin record up all the way and made his younger siblings a fort. Fort Harvelle, they called it. He’d wandered downstairs to retrieve a few snacks for them, but he secretly wanted to check to see if the fighting was over. Instead of both of his parents, he was met with a sight that broke his 12 year old heart.

She sat at the kitchen table, her hands holding her face up as she shook silently. A puddle of tears had formed on the surface of the table, and Dean only noticed it when he went over to hug his mom. She held him close, rubbing her son’s head, apologizing softly for having him find her this way.

“It’s okay,” Dean had said kindly, “Everyone cries, Mom.Even Dad.”

Her hair was shorter than he remembered, coming up to her shoulders in loose curls instead of down her back and arms.

Vaguely, he wondered about Sam and Jo.

She stirred, her said lolling to the side of the chair as she tugged at the jacket slung over her. A small yawn escaped her lips, and she stretched her arms out. Sitting up straighter, she blinked.

Her mouth fell open as she sat up straighter, her knuckles gripping at the armrests. Her mouth gaped like a fish out of wonder, a noise coming out from time to time before she settled with a small gasp.

“Dean.” She said softly, reaching her hand out to touch him.

Dean looked at her hand through weary eyes for a only a moment before he lifted his own, feeling heavier than he remembered, and clasping her own.

“M-mom,” he croaked.

A choked sound escaped from Mary’s throat before she leaned forward and rested her head on the bed, placing a wet kiss to his hand. Dean felt her tears falling onto his fingers. He tightened his hold on her hand reassuringly and clenched his eyes shut.

“We thought we’d never see you again,” she sobbed as she lifted her head, placing a delicate hand to his face. Dean breathed in sharply, but held his own hand to cover his mother’s. A tear slipped down the side of his face and hit Mary’s thumb, dissolving into the crease between his cheek and her hand.

“H....here. I’m here.”

--

It was 3:16am when he finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

and we slept arm-in-arm,
so soundly ignoring the outside
sounds of the ongoing horrible scene

Maps & Atlases - The Ongoing Horrible

 

When Castiel woke up,the first sense that came to him was feeling. He could’ve cried at the way his jaw felt when he tried to open his mouth, though a groan was all that he could manage. Shuffling could be heard from the right of him, and he peeled his eyelids back, lids feeling heavier than he remembered. His brother, now sporting what Castiel could place as a shorter haircut and a freshly shaven face. He was sitting up, a large and kind grin smoothing out his features and a glint in his eyes. Castiel couldn’t help but attempt a smile, only to wince inwardly and let his face fall.

“Glad to see you awake,” Gabriel said, placing the crossword puzzle that he was doing on the side table. “Your face is going to be hurting for a while....along with everything else.”

His shoulders felt heavy, and his mouth had a stale taste to it. He tested the words out on his tongue, noting the scratchy feeling  He cleared his throat a few times as he eyed the paper cup on the table.

“You gotta be thirsty,” Gabriel chuckled as he stood, pouring a decent amount of water in the paper cup before holding it up to Castiel, holding the straw up to his mouth.

The water helped the dryness a little, and Castiel felt a little better about the feeling in his throat. It felt as if someone had a loose grip on his neck and was just letting it sit there. He didn’t move though. He had a feeling that there was more damage done than he’d assume.

Gabriel leaned over and pressed a button on the wall, a soft beep humming from the wall.

“What day is it?”

“February 4th. You’ve been out for more than a week, buddy.”

“What?” Castiel croaked disbelievingly through a wrapped mouth, emitting a tsk from his older brother when he winced.

“You had a concussion, and a shit load of other damage done to you. When you were awake, you would...” Gabriel cleared his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. “You wouldn’t stop crying. You were asking for Dad, and you just kept slipping in and out. The Doc said it was from the pain, so they put you under. Said that you’d wake up when your body was ready.”

Castiel understood. He sighed inwardly, forgetting his situation long enough to move his hand. He swore, feeling pain shoot up his arm when he moved his wrist and Gabriel pressed the button again.

“You broke your wrist. Thought you should know.”

Castiel held his casted hand in his other bruised hand, sending a glare to his brother. “Got it,” he muttered. He then reached a hand up and felt at the bandage wrapped around his mouth. Gabriel stifled a sad chuckle, and Castiel groaned inwardly. He hoped he didn’t look as ridiculous as he felt.

 

A few seconds later, a nurse walked in with a doctor trailing behind him. The man was old looking, balding from

“Hello Castiel,” the doctor smiled, pulling Castiel’s clipboard from his end on the bed and clicking his pen. “Glad to see that you’ve finally awoken. I’m Doctor Campbell.”

“Mary Campbell?” Castiel struggled, feeling irritated with the cloth around his head.

Surprised, the older man gave him a pleasant smile. “Why yes, of course, she’s my daughter. “ He pulled the clipboard closer to himself, eyebrows arching downwards as he asked, “How’d you know my Mary?”

“Dean, Gabriel and Cas said in unison.

Dr. Campbell was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the clipboard again, and then looking at Castiel again. “His birthday just passed..Does this have anything to do wi-”

“Long story,” Castiel said through gritted teeth. The pain medication was starting to wear off, and the distant throbbing in his head was irritating him.

“A story for another time, I guess,” Dr. Campbell shrugged it off easily. “Alright, Mr. Novak, your vitals are good this morning. And your blood pressure has been normal. I’m sure that you’ve realized by now that your wrist is fractured, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You have two broken ribs, along with a few bumps and bruises on your face. You also dislocated your jaw from the punch you received,” he then proceeded to hand off the board to the nurse, “and a broken nose. We were able to put it back in place, but you’ll have to keep the bandage wrapped around your head for a few more days.”

Castiel swallowed. John truly did do a number on him.

“You also obtained a two broken ribs. Since the pain was too much for you, we got permission from your brother, Gabriel, to induce a coma and put you on a NSAID, which was used to help the pain, inflammation, and fever that followed. Your swelling has gone down, and now that you’re awake, we’re going to run a few tests to make sure that everything is running smoothly.”

“Then I can leave,” Castiel managed.

“We’ll want to keep you longer. Maybe a week or so? But yes. Then you can leave.”

Castiel slumped into his bed and frowned to the best of his abilities. The nurse buzzed around, replacing his IV bags while the doctor check him over one last time. Once Dr, Campbell bid them goodbye, Castiel asked for the nurse to elevate his bed.

“Not too much,” the woman smiled kindly, “We have to be cautious of your ribs.”

She helped Castiel to sit up carefully before adjusting the level with a remote control and helped him sit back.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

Castiel shook his head and regretted it.

“Try not to move too much,” she smiled again.

She pressed a button, and Castiel’s eyes unfocused a little as he felt a small swirl of relief stretch through his veins. As the nurse left, Gabriel whistled lowly and sat back up in his chair. “When you get all better, you’re taking self-defense classes.”

“I am a grown man.”

“A grown man who got his ass handed to him by an angry, middle aged man,” Gabriel said jokingly, but his voice strained a little.

They were quiet, Gabriel glancing at his hands in his lap and Castiel staring at his often talkative older brother. Then he mumbled softly, “What happened while I was unconscious?”

Gabriel looked at him for a moment.

‘It was hectic, for lack of a better term.” His brother sighed. “They already had you in a van and ready to go. You were...um, ugly, for lack of a better word.”

“Thanks.”

“Sam was yelling at Dean, Sarah was yelling at Sam for yelling at Dean, Charlie was trying to pull him away from the mess, Jo and Benny were with an EMT looking at her hand.”

Castiel vaguely remembered seeing Jo’s fist land straight into John’s jaw. It was her punch that knocked him out, ultimately. Castiel felt gratitude swell up in his stomach. Gabriel began the retelling of all of the events that took place between the 24th and now. Charlie came by and visited almost everyday, asking for news and leaving worn copy of Lord of the Flies.

“He’ll be bored when he wakes up,” she had scoffed obviously at Gabriel.

Jo was in and out a few times, Benny in tow with a basket each visit. Castiel sniffed the air for the blueberry scones he knew his friends would have left for him. Even Mary managed to slip in, holding a plastic bag filled with food for Gabriel and managing to explain Dean’s fear of hospitals before she left.

As horrible as the experience was to think about, Gabriel didn’t leave much room for Castiel to think back on it. He supposed this was on purpose, noticing his brother stair when his good hand shook too violently. He must’ve paled too, because Gabriel looked a bit lost for words. Finally, he said happily, “Your boyfriend won’t quit mentioning you.”

“How is Dean?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “Geez, bro. You’d think it was him in this hospital bed.”

“That’s not funny,” Castiel snipped at him.

“Sorry,” Gabriel apologized meaningfully. “We text each other a lot. He asks about you most of the time, but he says he’s doing better.”

“Really?” Castiel asked unsurely.

“Yeah, and I think he is.” Gabriel quickly looked through his bag, searching until his hands closed around a small mound and handing them to Castiel. “He wrote you a few letters, and when Benny comes around to give them to me, he tells me some things. Did you know Dean is in therapy?”

Castiel thought for a second. “Mentioned it.”

“Okay. He’s going back now, and Benny says he’s talking more, and the he misses you.”

The man felt a smile poking at the corners of his mouth. He’d missed him, too.

“And I have to wait,” Castiel started, “a whole fucking week until I see him?”

“Pipe down, I figured that part out already.”

Castiel watched his brother reach into the bag again, shuffling around for a while and muttering a quiet, “Hold on.” Castiel took this time to pull the light sheets back and look at his legs. He wiggled his toes oddly, finding it refreshing to see his legs, and even took the time to poke at a scrape with his unfractured hand.

“Here is your solution,” Gabriel finally said, sitting up in his chair. He placed the slender laptop in his lap. “I had Charlie stop in the apartment.”

Suddenly, Cas gasped. “Midnight.”

“With Charlie,” his brother huffed, shaking his head at him. “You lack faith in me, Cassie. Honestly.”

“Can you blame me?”

Gabriel fell quiet, and Castiel took the time to fiddle with his laptop. It was slower than usual, updating and refusing to turn off, so he sighed.

“I tried,” Gabriel’d started so quietly that Castiel almost didn’t catch it. “I called, I wrote, I even tried social media.”

“Got nothing,” Castiel replied tightly.

“Knowing our family, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t get any of it.” Gabriel sunk lower into his chair, frowning deeply, looking as if he were crossed between wanting to cry and wanting to punch something.

“Why is our family so fucked up, Cassie?” Gabriel brought his eyes up as he spoke, wringing his hands in his lap. Castiel caught a glimpse of the younger version of his brother, confused and childlike, almost willing to do anything to make things right. “I-I...I could never understand why they were always so wound up so tightly.”

Castiel shrugged. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Castiel, we’re going to have to have this conversation eventually.”

“Don’t wanna.”

He watched Gabriel lean back in his chair and propped his legs up on the edge of the hospital bed. Castiel groaned inwardly. This was inevitable.

“Tough,” Gabriel grinned wide. “You’ve been out for a week, and I missed you. It’s not the same talking to unconscious-you isn’t the same when I’m not getting a bitch face.”

Castiel sighed inwardly.

“I just woke up.”

“Pft, fine,” his brother huffs, crossing his arms.

They sat in silence. Gabriel picked at his nails for a while, and Castiel glanced over at a clock. It was only 8pm.

“Fine,” Castiel mumbled miserably.

His brother immediately perked up, smiling at his brother and slapping his thighs.

“I think,” Gabriel breathed, “I think that may have been the reason Dad left, Cas. I think it had something to do with Uncle Zach.”

Castiel visibly cringed at the name, having pushed all but Anna way back in his head. “Why?”

“Remember how Mom told us about how she met Dad?”

Castiel remembered sitting on his mother’s lap while his older siblings sat around, ogling at their new baby sister in wonder. It was a wonder how she ended up with red hair, but their father stood lovingly by his wife, simply muttering how his brother, Zach, had red hair once upon a time. It made Luke laugh and Gabriel poke fun at his uncle for weeks.

“It was after Anna was born, remember?”

“Yeah,” Castiel remembered.

Zachariah had brought Naomi over for dinner, having been friends with the girl across the street for years. Cas’s father, Charles, came through the door from a trip in Scotland. “I saw her smile, and I was gone,” their father had said happily .

“What that havta’ do with anything?” Castiel huffed impatiently as he pushed the memory back.

“Remember how Uncle Zach told it?”

“He said...” Castiel frowned deeply, “,,,,he said that Dad ‘stole’ her.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows quirked. “I think you’re getting it now, bro.”

“So you’re saying..”

“I’m saying,” Gabriel dropped his legs and opted to leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands holding his face. “I’m saying that Uncle Zach had something to do with Dad’s magic act.”

“But Gabriel-”

“Think about it!” Gabriel slapped his thigh and let the other hand run through his greasy hair. “Who was the first to move in with us after?”

“....Zachariah. But then that would mean-”

“Yes...”His brother urged.

“The search coming up empty. Never being able to find Dad...that wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“Yes! Exactly!”

His head started spinning. This was all too much.

“Uncle Uriel was the one who had to set up the search with the police, but I bet my ass he paid those cops to come up with that bullshit letter they  gave us.”

“Gabe-”

“And I remember hearing him on the phone with someone. He was really smug about something to do with money.”

“Gabriel, please.” Castiel finally got through. He blinked a few times. “This is all..too much.”

“What?”

“I-I’m overwhelmed, I think.” Castiel sighed, letting his eyes glide over to his confused brother. “Tomorrow?”

“Right,” he huffed, fumbling with his thumbs in his lap. “Sorry, little bro,” Gabriel smiled impishly, but sat up straighter. “I forgot for a second that you..uh...yeah. Sorry.”

Castiel said nothing, though. He had already leaned back and quit fighting the sleep that the medicine brought.

“Before you drift off completely,” Gabriel almost whispered, “Dean told me to give you this when you woke up.”

He felt his older brother slip something small into his good hand, and Castiel barely lifted his eyelid to see the small, shining object.

He dreamed of his father’s cerulean eyes, his kind smile, and unkempt hair.

 

Chapter Text

So too, my folks support me
Through my restless whims
They see not this failure
But the promise of a firstborn
When my darkness leaves
When my fall is complete
I shall cross this river
For them

 

The Black Atlantic - I Shall Cross This River

 

The next morning, Dean helped Jo move her belongings into the house. He stomped back and forth through the snow, from his car and to the house, only stopping once to accept the gloves that were handed to him by his frowning mother. She didn’t like the idea of Dean heaving Jo’s life back into the house on his own, but he refused any help from Mary, gingerly snatching any and everything Mary tried to take and adding it to his load. Jo refused to sit off to the side completely, taking the items that she could carry with one hand from Dean once he reached the door.

In an odd way, it was nice. He liked distractions, and he liked having moments where he didn’t have to think about much. Just move.

Somewhere in between moving her things from the car, Jo stopped him. Her eyes were searching his in the cold air, and she briskly pulled him into a tight hug. Her arms slipped under his, and she squeezed her small face into his chest. Dean snaked his arms around her and held his little sister close, closing his eyes and letting himself shake for a few minutes. Then they let go.

She didn’t bring it up, but Dean understood.

Once the last of Jo’s things were out of the Impala and in Jo’s old room, Dean locked his car. He pulled his arms from his jacket once he was inside of the house and pulled the gloves off, and he began to knead his fingers together to thaw out the cold feeling. He wandered into the kitchen where Mary stood in front of the stove. As Dean sat, she placed a grey mug with small ears poking out on its side in front of him, a steamy chocolatey smell meeting his nose as he pulled it up to his mouth. He smiled softly.

“Charlie brought it from your apartment while you were at work yesterday. She misses you.”

Dean would text her tonight.

“Bobby’s coming by later,” Mary mentioned, stirring the pot once more before she placed the cover over the steaming maccaroni. “He’s got an update on John’s arrest.”

Mary didn’t turn, but Dean didn’t need to see her face to know that it was a mild warning. No one in the family had been angrier about Dean’s disappearance than Bobby. Anytime John was mentioned, Bobby had to excuse himself.

“Benny said he’d come by, too” Jo interjected as she walked into kitchen. She picked a mug from the top cabinet, taking no notice to the small smile that crept up Mary’s face, and poured herself a mug full of coffee. “He’s bringing some pie.”

Mary scoffed happily, and Dean licked his lips.

“Maybe we should make it a family dinner then? Dean, can you text Charlie and tell her to come?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, pulling his phone.

He tapped away, typing up a quick message to the redhead about the dinner, and stuffed his phone in his pocket. He hadn’t seen her much since his birthday, but Dean figured it’d be a little odd for a while.

He hoped, however, that things would get back to normal soon. He missed his friend.

Well, his definition of normal.

Mary settled a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, placing a 4 strips of bacon on this side, then moving on to place Jo’s plate in front of her.

“How come Dean gets four strips?” Jo suddenly interjected, watching as her older brother took a bite of the crisp piece.

Dean rolled his eyes, but almost choked when he watched her good hand snatch two pieces off of his plate.

“Hey!”

Jo stuffed the the two pieces in her mouth and hopped down from the stool. She took her plate with her as she swiftly walked to the kitchen.

Dean looked to his mother in slight exasperation, only receiving a happy sigh and a tug of a smile.

--

Dean texted Charlie, as he promised, but only got a vague text in response.

Hmm.

Okay, it wasn’t that vague, but Charlie was never one to send single worded text messages. Though, she’d been a bit distant this week. Dean figured he’d get a chance to catch her and see what was going on, but she always came when he wasn’t there. He’d catch her before dinner, though.

Dean rushed to the shower before Jo could get to it, earning a strong knock on the door and an almost convincing promise that he’d wake up without eyebrows tomorrow morning. Dean only smirked while he shampooed his hair.

As he showered, he wistfully wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up normally with a teenaged Same and Jo. Would they have fought over who got the shower first like normal siblings would have?

Dean had never gotten the chance to experience that part of his life. It was a hefty chunk taken out of his life and replaced with unrepressed memories and fitful experiences that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

And the years after weren’t too kind either.

He cringed inwardly. His hand wandered to the knob of the shower and turned left, bringing to the water to a small stream before drips became the only thing coming from the shower head.

While Jo had gotten dressed, Dean waited in his car. His mother joined him in the warming car, flipping the heat on and handing him another cup of coffee while he sat huddled in his leather jacket.

“You know, you should probably get yourself a heavier coat, honey,” she said, giving the jacket a weary look.

Dean scoffed, shooting a look that almost muttered the sarcasm held in his face. Right.

Mary smirked, pinching his nose playfully. “A mother worries about her ducklings. Constantly.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you’re still well into your early 20’s. 23, just recently. Don’t try me, Dean James Winchester.”

He grinned mischievously.

“I still have the wooden spoon,” she teased.

His grin fell immediately, and faux terror replaced his expression. Jo, clad in a denim jacket over a sweater, almost skipped to the car, rounding the front and pulling the door open to the passenger side.

“You know, she still gets Sam with the spoon, “Jo laughed, “he’ll never admit it though.”

“Jesus,” Mary muttered, bring a hand up to her forehead. “It’s as if they want to get pneumonia or something..”

“Bye, Mom,” Dean chuckled, shifting the gears of the Impala.

He watched from the corner of his eye as his mother waved at them from the front door.

--

As Dean drove, his hand only leaving the steering wheel to fiddle with the radio knob, he thought of Cas. He hoped Gabriel would text him soon with an update, or maybe even Benny, but he missed Cas so much. If only he could see him...

“I think you and Sam should talk tonight,” Jo spoke clearly, bringing a hand up and lowering the volume on the radio.

When Dean reached a red light, he pulled to a stop and gave her a look.

“I know you’re still mad at him, but it’s been almost two weeks, Dean. He wants to talk, he really does, but we all know you.” Then she muttered, “you love avoiding issues.”

“Dean gave her a distasteful scoff, pulling off once the light turned red.

“And you’re not fighting me as hard as usual, so you have to know that I’m right.”

Dean bit his bottom lip. So what if she was right?

“He’s our brother, Dean. He could be a pigheaded asshole, and a stick up the ass of a know it all with all of the hair of a 1979 L’oreal commercial-”

Dean barked with laughter, picturing his brother’s pissy bitch face for the first time in weeks.

“But he’s our brother. More your brother than he is mine. You know he’d never hurt you intentionally.”

He hummed in response, making a left turn as he listened.

“And I’m not saying you don’t get to chew him inside out for it. Hell, Mom’s hoping you do, but don’t tell her I said that.”

Dean laughed again lowly, and settled into the comfortable silence that followed. However, something wasn’t sitting right with him for the rest of the ride. He figured enough that he’d pull Sam aside after dinner and talk about it, but it wasn’t the thought of talking to Sam that bothered him.

It was the thought of Jo feeling as if she were less than a sibling to them. How’’d she come to think of that?

So, when they pulled up in front of the coffee shop, Dean tugged her arm before she left the car. Her eyebrows almost met the lining of her hair when Dean cleared his throat.

“Er..” Dean blanked for a second. “Just as much.”

“Sorry, Dean, but I have no id-”

“Family don’t end in blood,” he cut her off.

It was Jo’s turn to blank.

“You are my sister,” he added on, then released her jacket.

Her mouth gaped a few times, and she looked down at her lap, her blonde hair acting as a curtain. Or maybe a shield.

“Um,” she began, but it was all that was said.

She yanked her car door open, tugging her jacket around her, and walking swiftly towards the cafe. Dean sighed.

--

Dean decided to take the floors willingly today, earning a surprised look from his friend. He figured Jo would want her space. The backroom was her territory today.

While giving the floors and tables a good wipe down, Dean noticed a pair of ballerina flats tapping in the corner of his eyes. He stood straight, giving the girl, who stood nervously with her lip in her mouth, his full attention.

“I-....I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. But. Uh,” the girl scratched the back of her head. “There’s no one else at the register.”

Dean took a quick glance back, noticing the lack of Benny and Jo’s noise for the first time. The music was still going, so he knew they hadn’t gone to far.

A sudden bang was heard from the backroom, a giggle and a soft shh sounding quickly after.

Of course.

His heart gave a light twitch, and he could feel the anxiousness build in his chest, but his decision was quick.

“Come.”

The girl gave him a surprised look,

“I-I really didn’t mean. You don’t have to. Uh,” the girl scratched at the back of her head again. “The guy, uh, Benny told me not to bother you unless I was sitting and you were taking orders.”

Dean’s eyebrow quirked. Appreciation flooded his chest.

However, he’d have to get through this eventually.

“’s okay,” he smiled tensely.

So, he took her order. It was simple enough. She’d wanted a cup of coffee to go with a shot of espresso and a slice of lemon cake. As he began to bag her cake slice, a few other people wandered into the store. The ding of the bell made his shoulders tense, but he quickly shook it off. He had a job to do.

His hands shook as he took more orders, a few people deciding to eat in, and a few others staring at Dean in shock. A few short minutes after, when the first round of customers were settled, the exhausted man leaned forward against the counter. It felt hard to breathe, and Dean’s own surprise at himself wasn’t helping the lump in his throat that was slowly rising.

Woah.

He pulled his eyes close, placing one hand over the place where his heart rested and the other firmly grasping the warm marble counter.

Breathe in 4, breathe out 7.

Breathe in 4, breathe out 7.

And as his evened out, he could hear footsteps nearing the counter again. He quickly collected himself and felt a subtle feeling of relief settle in his chest when he realized that it was only the girl from earlier.

She stood nervously, her dark skin shining warmly in the coffee shop’s light and her fingers fiddling with ends of her green tinted hair. She was a subtle beauty, Dean admitted to himself. Her eyes flickered to his quickly, and she breathe something out incoherently.

Dean switched his legs, “What?”

“I said,” she said softly, “I’m proud of you.”

And God, Dean didn’t mean to stare at her so wildly. What now?

She was proud of him.

She was...proud of him?

“Um,” the girl said and she sighed again. “I’m proud of you. I. Um. I’m sorry. It’s just. I have anxiety. Well, had.”

Dean felt his eyebrows lower as he stared at the girl.

“I used to have it bad. Didn’t like leaving my house, even. It was so bad, the therapist was making house calls.” She laughed nervously, “what therapist makes house calls? Gotta be fucked up, right?”

At this, Dean smiled reassuringly. The girl visibly relaxed, and her hands wandered from her hair.

“I come here a lot. I’ve been coming here since it opened up,” she smiled softly. “It’s kind of like a sanctuary, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Dean shook his head.

“And I swear I’m not a creep, but I’ve kind of watched you make progress in like a really short time. And I just thought. Y’know. It’s um,” she started getting nervous again. “Wow. I thought it would have been nice to let you know that you’re doing a good job. That someone’s proud of you.”

He felt a warm feeling settle in his stomach, replacing the anxiety and nervousness he felt attempting to make a return. He couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m sorry, this was-”

“No,” Dean reassured. “Thank you. I-I...I needed that.”

The girl looked surprised, but she watched Dean’s hands fly over to the tongs on the counter, his hand reaching in and picking up a second slice of lemon cake with the tongs. He placed it on a paper plate and rapping it up in a paper bag. When he handed it over to the girl, she smiled brightly, accepting it from his still shaking hands.

“Thank you, wow. Uh.”

Her hands quickly flew to her pocket and she pulled out her keys. Dean stared curiously as she fiddled with something, a keychain of some flower. Finally, she got it loose and held it out to him.

“Here. Take this.”

Dean stared for a moment, then he held out his hand.

“Sunflowers signify happiness. I think you’d appreciate this.”

And Dean felt himself smiling again.

“Thank you...?”

“Gilda. My name is Gilda.”

“Thank you, Gilda,” he repeated warmly.

“Have a good day..” she paused, glancing at his name tag quickly and smiling, “Dean. “

Dean waited until the girl left before he went back to work. He grabbed the rag and began to wipe down the counter. Once the counter was cleaned, he replaced the pastries in the warming cabinets, rearranged the

When he finally took a moment to stand still, his hands shook. He clenched his fists.

“Alright, brother.”

Dean turned his head, spotting Benny from the doorway to the back room, arms crossed over his chest and a strange look on his face.

“I think it’s safe to say that you deserve a break,” he nodded his head. “I’ll take it from here.”

Dean’s mouth hung open for a moment, but he pulled it shut. He did need a break. He could feel the overwhelming sensation of exhaustion washing over his body, making him slouch and forcing his eyes to wander to the floor until he could see the scuffed areas of his boots.

So stupid, he thought. He wasn’t normal, and he couldn’t just do simple things, like working the front register.

But he could try.

“You still there, buddy?”

Dean looked up again, finding that Benny had moved from his spot near the door to the space next to him. He was in the process of tying his apron around his waist.

“Sorry for, er, disappearing,” Benny blushed and rubbed at the back of his flushed neck. “But thanks for covering for me.”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged as he yanked the small notepad from his pocket.

As he walked around Benny, he felt his arm being pulled back gently. He looked back, meeting Benny’s bright grey eyes.

“Nah, I mean it, Dean,” he started, letting go of Dean’s arm and letting his own hand fall to his side. “You didn’t have to do that. And..And I know you’re struggling with everything, especially now, but I really do mean it, Dean. Thank you.”

A lump had formed in Dean’s throat, and he tried to swallow around it. He met Benny’s eyes with a sharp shake of his head. He didn’t trust his voice to use words.

“‘m really proud ‘aya, Dean.”

A hesitant hand came up, but eventually Benny’s hand clapped Dean’s shoulder affectionately. Then, unexpectedly, Benny pulled him into a hug. It was odd, having only given Benny hugs around holidays and special celebrations, but Dean figured out a long time ago that Benny had been an affectionate person. He probably restrained himself around Dean.

So Dean hugged back.

After a few claps on the back, receiving one last squeeze on the shoulder for good measure, Dean was back on the floors and taking the orders of the patient and seated customers,

--

When Dean got home, he found his mother buzzing around the kitchen, pulled into her naturally busy state as she cooked and baked. Hearing the door close, she turned her head and smiled at him from the kitchen.

“Hey, honey. Bobby’s out back.”

Dean wandered into the kitchen, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek and taking a seat on one of the stools.

“The stubborn bastard is frying up the grill for ribs,” she tsked. “He just refuses to just use it on the deck. Keeps saying, ‘It’s not proper, dammit,” Mary imitated, placing a hand on her hip and sighing. Dean laughed.

“Your brother’s here, by the way.” She had turned back to the stove, stirring one of the pots.

Dean looked at his hands.

Then, he pushed himself from the stool and walked out. He’d have to face him soon enough. He took his time going up the stairs, and he peaked into a few rooms, only to find his brother standing in their childhood room. When Dean and Sam were much younger, they shared a room. Dean would go as far as saying that it was one of the best parts of his childhood. It was only after Jo officially became a part of the family did he get his own room. The room he stood in continued to be Sam’s room.

His younger brother stood near the small desk, his shoulders slouched forward and his fingers fiddling with an old picture. His hair was much shorter and pulled into one of those frilly ponytails that he and Jo used to double on him for. His coat was still on, still zipped up with the a scarf tucked in the front.

“I remember when we were kids,” Sam mumbled, “and you used to watch over me all the time. Like it was your job.”

Dean stepped further into the room, an anxious feeling building up in his stomach as he leaned himself against the archway of the door.

“I know..I know that Dad,” Sam clenched his teeth for a moment. “I know that Dad used to tell you that you had to look out for me and stuff. I know. But..I don’t know what happened, man. After everything that happened, the years you were gone, the year at Topeka, now...I just. I guess that through it all, I’ve just. “Dean straightened up as Sam sighed. He watched his younger brother stare down at the floor, his hands moving into the pocket of his jeans.” I guess that I’ve been trying to do for you what you were always doing for me. Look out for you.

“But I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I shouldn’t have done what I did..I shouldn’t have pushed for you to be..to be institutionalized, I know. But I-I just want you to get better a-”

“I am,” Dean cut through Sam’s sentence.

Sam looked up at him and blinked. “What?”

“I am,” Dean cleared his throat. His heart picked up in his chest. “I a-am getting better.”

“Yo-”

“B...but I need. I need to do it. At my own pace.” His voice cracked a little. “I need y-you to stop pushing me. I..” Dean sighed heavily. “I-I’m going to be okay, Sam.”

Sam was now looking at him with his mouth hanging open, gaping a few times when he tried to say something, but no sound came from his mouth. Instead, Sam’s face twitched oddly, and he crossed the room in three long strides before his arms were around his older brother.

The kid was a giant bear.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” his younger brother heaved into his shoulder, and moisture began to pool at Dean’s shoulder. Whatever else Sam was going to say was lost in his quiet sobs.

Ah, what the hell.

Dean pulled his arms up and hugged Sam tightly. There was no way he could stay mad at his brother. No possible way.

When they were all set, Sam puffy eyed and smiling, and Dean in non-tear stained shirt, the clambered down the stairs to greet Jo and Benny.

“Hey, sis,” Sam said cheerily, letting an arm drape over Jo’s shoulder as he pulled her in for a hug.

She shot Dean an odd look that melted into a smile when she wrapped her arms around him.

“Yeah, yeah, get off me, you giant puppy,” Jo said, pushing her brother away from her.

Benny slipped into the kitchen and came back empty hand, but wandered out into the back door.

“Bobby’s out back on the grill,” Sam informed Jo.

“The stubborn grout couldn’t pass up the ribs, could he?”

“It ain’t proper,” Sam mimicked, even going as far as pretending to secure a hat over his head.

As they laughed at Sam’s imitation, Benny wandered back into the living room, smiling warmly as he kicked his boots off by the door. He whistled lowly as he stared at Sam’s feet.

“You better get yours off before your mom gets you with the spoon, Sammy boy.”

Sam flushed the deepest red that anyone had ever seen in a while, fumbling and grumbling as he pulled his snow boots off of each feet, and Dean couldn’t help the deep chuckle that erupted from his mouth.

“So,” Benny started, “we have a good hour before we can get our grub on.”

“So you say,” Jo smirked, turning her body in the direction of the kitchen and making her way towards Mary, Sam in tow.

“I hope they don’t touch the pie.”

Dean sighed wistfully.

“Hey, have you looked at your phone at all today?”

Dean thought back a little, realizing the last he’d checked his phone was when he texted Charlie. Speaking of, he thought faintly, where was she?

Dean quickly shook his head, opting for Benny to smile warmly and widely.

“Cas woke up last night,” he said.

--

Dean found himself in his car, hands on the wheel, clenched and ready to drive off at any moment. Yet, his foot lay firm on the brake, and his own jaw was set as he stared at the boards of his mother’s house. He wanted to see Cas. He wanted to see Cas so badly. And he would.

Today, he’d gotten through a lot and broke through a lot of barriers, and going into a hospital would be one of them. He swore it.

Cas deserved that much.

The door to the house opened and closed, and Dean pressed the button and watched as the window descended into the car door, watching as Benny’s head appeared in the window.

“You alright brother?”

“Cas.”

Benny looked at Dean for a long time. His thick eyebrows were drawn down over his soft grey eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Benny looked at him once more. Then, all in one move, he pulled his jacket tighter over his shoulders and tapped the door open.

“I’m coming with you.”

He was worried, and Dean knew it, but Benny was friend. His best friend.

“Well? Are you just gonna let me freeze my ass out here or let me in?”

Dean unlocked the doors, watching distantly as his friend pulled the door open and sat himself comfortably in the passenger.

His knuckles were turning white against his grip on the wheel as he made a few turns. His hands were beginning to hurt and shake a bit, but he did his best to mask it as they neared the hospital. His music played loudly, and he tried his best to tap out the beats to The Yardbirds song while he drove, but his rigid fingers only tapped unharmoniously against the leather, and it only made him feel worse.

It wasn’t until they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital did Dean realize that this was just another mistake. There was no way he would be able to leave his car and- and dammit, there was no way he’d be able to go into that hospital. It didn’t matter how much he pep talked himself in his head, his legs were heavy and stubborn. They weren’t having it.

Then, Benny spoke.

“Brother, its okay if-

“Benny.”

“-you can’t go in,” Benny continued over him. “It’s alright if you can’t.”

And for a few more minutes, Dean kept his hands wrapped firmly around the leather wheel.

Then, they shook.

And then, he whimpered.

His head fell forward and against the backs of his hands. His hands and arms continued shaking, and Dean closed his eyes tightly. He could see black.

In his right ear, he could hear Benny shift and unbuckle his seatbelt, and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He tensed and his shoulders went rigid for a moment.

“So-so weak,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, his tears escaping into the corners of his mouth.

“Weak isn’t the word I would use for you.”

Dean only chanced a glance at Benny before closing his eyes. So weak.

“You did a lot today. More than you’ll admit, and I commend and respect you so much for it, Dean. I really do.” Benny squeezed his shoulder. “But this isn’t something that could be done in a day.”

Dean sighed.

“I know it’s tough, and you’ve got a guy in there who you’ve been dying to see, but some bridges can’t be crossed. Not yet, at least.”

“Right,” Dean huffed. He brought a shaky hand to his face, wiping the leaking tears from his face.

“And if you’re scared that Cas won’t get it, then you shouldn’t. Castiel is the most understanding human being I’ve ever come across,” Benny huffed out a laugh. “Trust me when I say that there is nothing to worry about.”

Dean sighed again.

“It’s alright, brother. I have a way for you to see Cas today. I promise, then Benny grabbed the keys from the ignition. “But I’m driving us back.”

--

Castiel’s face appeared on the screen and Dean could feel a small smile creep up his face. Castiel, as rugged and tired as he looked, wore a small sticker on his forehead that shimmered in the light.

“Hello, Dean,” he said quietly.

A small hand came into view and placed another sticker on his face. Castiel sighed, but Dean laughed.

“Gabriel deemed it...appropriate to bring small children into my hospital room. They’ve kept me company while he went to work.”

A small giggle erupted from off screen, and suddenly a small face peaked in beside Castiel’s arm.

“Cassiel, he’s so pretty,” the little girl said in awe. Dean’s neck flushed. The little girl looked to be 7 years old, her two missing teeth and swinging pigtails being the only evidence for Dean. Castiel chuckled.

“This is Maggie. Maggie, that’s Dean.”

“Hiya Dean,” she waved her hand into the camera, smiling widely and placing a sticker on her palm. “This is for you.”

“Thank you,” Dean stated shyly.

“Give me a moment,” Castiel interjected, lowering the screen of his laptop and muttering something off to the side. A collection of sighs could be heard and a woman asked for the children to follow her. Castiel lifted the screen again, and Dean was greeted with a small smile.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean answered, ducking shyly.

“Gabriel told me about your attempt to visit me. And told me about your...resentment towards being in a hospital.”

 

Dean couldn’t help but look down at his hands, feeling his heart sink and thump in his stomach. He had hoped to keep that between him, Benny, and Gabriel. It was embarrassing, on his part.

“Travels fast.”

When he looked up, Castiel was staring at the screen with a patient and concerned look on his face. His thumbs were fiddling together in his lap, and the sticker on his forehead glimmered as he tilted his head. Then, he started to type. Shortly after, Dean’s laptop dinged loudly.

CastheCat: Thank you.

Dean_winchester: For what? I couldn’t even make it into the fucking hospital.

CastheCat: You of all people should know that it’s the attempt that solely matters to me. Hospitals are a trigger for you, and you tried to fight through it to come see me.

Dean_winchester: I hate that word.

CastheCat: What? Trigger?

Dean_winchester: Yeah, it makes me feel like I’ve got a whole bag of cats in my brain or something.

Dean_winchester: This was all my fault.

Dean caught Castiel’s frown when he glanced up at the screen. He pulled his hands from the keyboard and settled them in his lap.

“Dean, I am going to tell you this and you are going to listen,” Castiel started evenly. “I will tell you as many times as it is needed to get this point across.”

His own hands settled at the sides of his laptop as Dean repositioned himself.

“What happened that night..that night was not your fault. Your fat-John was not your fault. That is not on you Dean.”

Dean grunted in protest, but the blue eyed man gave him a pointed look.

“It was not your fault. None of this was your fault. All of this is on John’s shoulders. Not yours.”

“Cas-”

“He’s sick and it is not your fault.”

“Cas-”

“The things you’re dealing with are not your fault.”

His hands began to shake on the laptop, and he couldn’t help the way his voice cracked, “Please.”

“Dean,” Castiel mumbled quietly, “you are not to blame.”

And Dean settled his shaky hands against his face, resting them in his lap and feeling the tears escape his eyes. He didn’t mean to, but he sat in front of his screen and cried silently. His door was closed, and all of Castiel’s soothing words could only be heard by Dean through his headphones.

“I’m sorry if that was difficult to hear,” Castiel muttered solemnly, “but you needed to hear that. You cannot blame yourself, Dean.”

“‘s hard,” Dean sighed shakily.

“At least try to, Dean. And know that no one blames you. I don’t blame you. This..this was all beyond your control.”

Dean sniffed one last time, and he brought a hand up to wipe the remnants of tears on his face. “Alright,” he mumbled.

“Now, go eat, please. And please tell your family that I said hello,” Castiel muttered into the microphone. “I believe the nurse has come to bathe me.”

Dean muffled a laugh, and Castiel’s eyes twinkled.

“I am glad that my misfortune has brought a laugh out of you, nevertheless a smile.”

Dean gave him something of a small smile. Suddenly, red hair appeared from the side of the screen.

“Aw, he’s so handsome! Is that your boyfriend?”

Dean blushed, and Castiel gave the nurse a very exasperated look, one that almost made Dean laugh again.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

And Dean gave one last wave before the video camera blinked, making a small boop sound as Dean closed his laptop.

Chapter Text

As the time for dinner drew closer and closer, Dean watched Mary buzz from room to room multiple times. He helped with what he could, taking dishes to the table and cleaning up where he could, but Mary was a do-it-yourself kind of woman. As he attempted to take the salad bowl out of his mother’s hands, the doorbell sounded through the house, surprising Dean and giving Mary time to escape her son’s tall frame.

“Go answer that,” she said with a huff, giving Dean a rueful smile and ruffling his hair with a free hand.

Dean huffed as he made his way to the front door. He pushed one of the stray boots to the side and checked the peephole before pulling the locks and turning the knob to the door. A frown tugged at his lips as he let his eyes rest on his red-headed friend.

She stood at the door, almost a foot shorter than Dean, with a bowl in her gloved hands, foil covering whatever was inside. She wore a heavy bubble jacket, quirky and red, along with a white beanie to match her gloves. Dean quickly recognized it as Christmas gifts that his mother gifted his friend almost 2 months ago. The tip of her nose was almost as red as her hair, and Dean knew instantly that she walked here. Walking  was something she rarely did. When things calmed down, maybe he’d take a look at her car...

“Heya,” Charlie quipped cheerfully, though Dean could see the hesitation in her eyes.

His frown deepened.

“Um,” Charlie said, glancing downwards at her hands, as if she was noticing the bowl for the first time. “It’s macaroni casserole. Your favorite?” She tried a smile. “I figured it could help me make amends for going awol?”

Dean stood very still. Charlie’s shoulders dropped hopelessly, and her eyes dropped to the foil now spotted with snow. She was biting her lip, and her grip on the bowl tightened as she took in a shaky breath.

“I..I swear, Dean, I can explain it all. I just..I need to-”

Dean quietly took the bowl from her, feeling his heart jolt at the sudden tears he glimpsed in Charlie’s eyes. He held the door for her, allowing her to come into the house all the way.  Charlie was sensitive, yes, but never one to cry openly. Dean learned that within the first year of their friendship. Dean could only imagine what it was that triggered her tears. He sighed. He’d thought he’d been the only one having a tough time.

While she pulled the snow covered items off, Dean made his way to the dining room where his mother stood with a few forks in hand.

“Just what we need,” Mary sighed, laughing a little as she took the bowl from Dean. “Who is it? It’s a bit early for anyone to be comin’ for dinner,huh?”

“Charlie.”

“Charlie? I haven’t seen her around in a few days since..Anyway, is she alright?”

Dean shrugged his shoulder, and Mary frowned, but quickly replaced it with a smile as she noticed Charlie enter the room.

“Hi, Mary,” Charlie smiled brightly, bringing herself closer as Mary opened her arms.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Mary lay a quick kiss to her forehead, rubbing her arms and squeezing her a little tighter. “I’ve missed seeing you around her. How’ve you been?”

Charlie’s smile faltered noticeably, but she shrugged it off. “The snow is messing with my leg a bit, but I’m managing.”

“You should’ve called. Dean could’ve picked you up,” she tisked and finally released her. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I,” Charlie grinned warmly.

“Come on,” Dean tugged her arm, giving her a small, reassuring smile before leading her out of the dining room.

Mary called out, “I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

Dean walked with Charlie towards that stairs, past the living room where Jo and Benny sat with a deck of cards. Bobby was staring out the back door, beer in one hand and tongs in the other. Sam was nowhere in sight. Naturally, Jo perked up at the sight of Charlie’s hair. Dean shook his head, glancing at Charlie quickly. then mouthing the word ‘later’ to his sister. She frowned.

They walked up the stairs quietly, Charlie’s fingers fiddling with the edge of her sweater, tripping once or twice on a stair, and Dean knew something was wrong for sure. Once they reached his room, he shut the door behind him and switched his light on, spotting Charlie from the corner of his eye. She had picked up a picture frame off of his desk, staring at it with a tense smile.

“This was the first Christmas party,” she muttered softly, giving Dean a quick look before looking back at the frame.

“Caturday,” Dean stated seriously. Charlie laughed.

“I still can’t believe you wore that ugly cat sweater with me.”

“Still have it,” Dean responded.

He glided over to his closet, tugging the purple sweater out and holding it up to his chest. He pressed the small button on the hem of the sweater and watched Charlie’s face brighten up as the sweater lit up.

“You still have it?” She came closer and bobbed the small cotton ball on the cat’s head.

“Of course,” Dean scoffed.

Charlie was smiling now, running a hand over the small bulbs of light and the cat’s nose, and Dean was suddenly filled with a grateful feeling. These passed few weeks, he really missed his best friend. However, a small ache sat snug and annoyingly next to that grateful feeling; his mind had been on Cas and his father that he’d forgotten all about Charlie.  

Her smile began to fall as slowly as it came, and her hand fell from the sweater. For a few moments, they stood in silence as Dean placed the sweater back in the closet. Finally, she spoke, and her voice surprised him.

“I-I,” she took a deep breath, her voice shaking as she began again. “I’m sorry that I haven’t..been around for a while.Things have just been too much, and I’m just a really bad friend, and this is all-”

“Hey,” Dean frowned, gripping her by her shoulders and stooping his head a little lower to catch her eye. “Breathe.”

But Charlie was already breathing a little too fast for Dean’s liking, and he felt her shoulders start to quake under his hands. Dean pulled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her firmly, and he began to breathe deeply. Eventually, Charlie caught on and attempted to breathe with him. She still shook, but she let head rest on his shoulder and her eyes close.

When her breathing was close to even, Dean rubbed her back with his left hand and loosened his grip. Anxiety attacks and episodes were normal between the two friends, but Dean always became worried when Charlie had them.

“I’m a terrible friend,” Charlie finally said. “Please don’t hate me, Dean.”

“Never.”

“I just,” Charlie sighed and pulled back from the hug, shrugging her shoulders and wringing her hands repeatedly. “After that night, justs seeing you so....It just. It brought back a lot of memories.”

And Dean knew. He remembered.

His nose filled with the pseudo smell of ammonia and blood, but Dean pushed back at the anxiety he felt creeping up his skin. His focus needed to be on Charlie. He wasn’t the only one who was affected.

“Seeing all that blood..” Charlie shivered, sitting up straighter, “it reminded me so..just so much of the time that we were stuck in that hell hole with Dr. Juane. If it were just that, I’d handle it, y’know? I still remember all of those times I’d sneak into yours and Frankie’s room when the dick was on my floor, and how much fun we turned that into. Those are the things I hang on to,” Charlie sniffed. “But that wasn’t it.”

Dean was patient, rubbing her arm in reassurance and keeping a hand in her hand. Charlie shook with a labored breath, swiped a few tears from her face, and squeezed his hand.

“I thought of the accident.”

Dean squeezed her hand back.

“I thought-I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I just...there was so much blood...and my mom..Dad,” she swallowed thickly, and trembled a little more. Dean pulled her closer.

“I lost everyone that day, Dean. I lost my mom, my dad, my faith..My grandma called that same day. I had no one.”

And suddenly, Dean remembered Charlie telling the story of being excommunicated from the rest of her family while they played cards one day.

“They couldn’t handle this full throttle gay being handed to them,” she had laughed bitterly, slapping down a row of kings and pulling the graham cracker piles towards her.

Charlie sniffed, “I stayed in my bed for the first week. I just didn’t want to see anyone, but I think it was worse being alone. I didn’t want to have to talk to anyone, so I would visit Castiel and leave him books to read for when he’d wake up. I was so alone, but I didn’t want to be alone, yet I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I felt like I had no one.”

Dean frowned, “Called.”

Charlie looked up at him, “You were dealing with so much. I didn’t want to add another block to your crumbling castle, Dean.”

“So? Dean huffed. “I...I will always pick up...when you call.”

Charlie looked at him, full of surprise and unmoving under his arm, but Dean could see the beginnings of a smile on the corners of her lips.

“That’s why I came here. I realized I have family.Sorta.”

“Family don’t-”

“-Don’t end in blood. Yeah, yeah, I know, Deanie Darko.”

Dean frowned, and Charlie laughed as she muttered, “Come here you lug,” and leaned in for another hug.

“Now, tell me,” she said as she pulled herself back. “When the helk did you start speaking sentences? And don’t leave out a single detail.”

Chapter Text

 

 

 

 

If there was one thing that Dean could truly say was a good result to his birthday, it would be the progression of his mental health.

That was a mouthful. Dean huffed a laugh.

In the short time that Dean knew Cas, he'd opened up more to the people around him. Mary noted this, and Jo mentioned it a few times at the shop. The fact of the matter was that Cas was good for Dean. Really good.

Though, he wasn't the reason for Dean’s progressions. Not completely, at least. Dean needed a push. All of the energy and desires to be okay we're there, he just needed a push.

And Cas gave him that push.

He didn't give himself too many mental pats on the back, but Dean gave a well deserved onto himself at dinner.

Dinner was served, and Dean could not have been any happier. Sarah and Jess had made a surprise visit, joining them for dinner and sitting right between Benny and Bobby. Mary seemed pleased by this. Benny, in all of his gruff and ‘I’m such a man’, glory screamed  at the site of Charlie’s pet hamster, Fiona, slipping out of her front pocket and onto her shoulder.

The best part was watching Benny recover from the sight, breathing heavily and batting away Sam’s hands constantly. Bobby shot him an odd look and kept it there for the rest of the night. Mary simply laughed.

“Need a baby bottle?” Dean had said suddenly.

Subtle shock crossed everyone’s face, except Benny. He broke out in a monstrous grin and began to banter from across the table, only to be half-heartedly shrugged off  by Dean and earn a light pat on the shoulder from Jo.

He gave himself a mental pat. Ah.

The food was delicious enough for seconds, and by the time dessert came around, everyone was holding their stomachs. Benny began dozing off in his chair. Sam had somehow managed to get Aunt Ellen’s recipe for her peach cobbler pie, bringing tears to Jo’s eyes when she swallowed the first bite. Bobby sniffed and took another bite, and no one brought up the tear that slipped beside his nose.

That night, everyone relocated to the living room to watch a movie.

Dean reminisced about this night as he buttoned up a light jacket over his chest.

Although March began just last week, Dean couldn’t help but feel like it was still February. It had been such a long month, starting off bloody and dragging on. It felt as though the month, along with it’s terrible weather, would never end. However, on this second day of March, the sun peaked out from behind clouds, and the snow was melting away in streams beside the sidewalk. Dean boots were moist by the time he reached the third block.

Today, Cas was being released from the hospital. They’d kept him much longer than expected. His grandfather, Dr. Campbell, didn’t want to risk Castiel’s health with his broken ribs, so he kept him longer. This irritated Cas to no end, Dean noted as he recalled the amount of profanities that Cas dropped during their Skype call. They’d been Skyping every night up to now, sharing their own details of their recovery with each other.

Dean huffed as the cold air picked up. It may have looked nice out, but it didn’t feel as nice. He buried his neck deeper into his jacket as he rounded a corner. Catching sight of his destination from across, Dean hurriedly crossed the street.

 

--

 

“Castiel comes home to day,” Chuck smiled, taking his glasses off and folding them, then tucking them into his pocket. “How do you feel about that?

“Happy. Really happy,” Dean sighed. “I-I missed him.”

“I know. It’s been a tough start to the year for you, Dean; yet, here you are.”

Dean looked at his fingers. His nails were almost down to the nubs. He didn’t know when, but he’d picked up the bad habit of biting his nails instead of simply fumbling with them in his lap.

“I’m really glad that you agreed to meet with me to meet twice a week. You’ve made a lot of progress since you’ve been back.

Dean shot him a look of uncertainty.

Chuck’s eyebrows met, “You don’t think you’ve made progress?”

“I’m still fucked up.”

“Why do you think you’re fucked up?”

“C’mon, Chuck,” Dean sighed. He sat up in his seat, meeting the man’s eyes. “You..You may be my psych dude, but you don’t have to pretend.”

Chuck pursed his lips, giving Dean a long look, and then clicked his pen. He scribbled something down in his notepad and placed it on the table in front of him when he finished. Standing, he wandered over to his desk and pulled several drawers open, seeming to look for something. He huffed, pulled something from one of the drawers. And closed the other drawers. Once he took his seat across from Dean, he placed a binder on the table between them and slid it to Dean. It had a smooth, dark cover, and the top was bent a little inward.

“Look through that. Tell me what you think.”

Dean stared at Chuck for a long minute. He opened the binder, finding newspaper clippings and various medical bills. Little sticky notes stuck out here and there, some covered in scribbles that Dean couldn’t decipher, and others covered in words of encouragement. He flipped back to the first page of the binder and read the headline:

DEADLY ACCIDENT ON PASSAIC

“Let’s be unprofessional for a bit.” Chuck leaned in his seat, folding a leg over the other and taking a sip from his “psyched” mug. “I got into a really bad accident a while back. I was at an all time low. I had no family, my friends weren’t my friends, and I was fired from my last job. I was driving down Passaic Road and a 4x4 pummeled my little car. I was in the hospital for almost a year and rehab for much longer. I couldn’t speak or eat properly. I almost gave up.”

Dean closed the binder, looking up at Chuck again.

“Dean, if rock bottom is a physical place, then I’ve been there more than once. I almost gave up, but I didn’t. I made it out alive and started making something out of myself. I had to rebuild because I think something in the universe was pushing me to change. I just wasn’t getting the memo. That’s not always the reason things happen to us, and sometimes there is no particular reason, but what matters most is right here and right now. You’re in my office because you want to be better, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s what matters. You want to be better. I went to school and I did all I could in this world to reach moments like this. I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m here to open your eyes and to help you, and so far, you’ve been accepting my help. Don’t stop now.”

Dean’s hands shook. He placed the binder on the table in front of him.

“I have made progress,” Dean paused and contemplated his next sentence. “It just seems too good...too good to be true.”

“And why is that?”

“I-I...I’m scared that,” he swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I’m scared that something is going to pull me back.”

Chuck twirled his pen in his hand. “That’s possible.”

Dean looked at him, and Chuck uncrossed his legs.

“It’s possible for something to pull you back, but that doesn’t mean that you stop moving forward, you know what I mean?”

Dean nodded his head. Chuck placed his glasses back on his face and smiled.

“Let’s move on to something else. Like your father.”

Immediately, his skin felt a little clammier than usual. He caught his hand mid air as it flew up and towards his mouth. He never liked discussing John, but he knew that it had to be done.

“Don’t worry,” Chuck gave him a chaste smile. “I think we’ve gotten the nitty gritty things out of the way. I just want to know how you feel about his trial.”

John’s trial had been a private one, upon Dean and Mary’s request. Enough damage had been done, and Dean did not want anything to do with the trial. To his knowledge, Bobby was present, but that’s all he knew.

“I used to feel like it was my fault, now I don’t.”

Chuck clicked his pen and wrote something down on his notepad. Then, he looked at Dean.

“Do you feel like elaborating?”

“I...” Dean took a deep breath. “When Mom and..John used to argue, he used to blame stuff on me. Like..I broke my arm when I was 10, and he blamed the hospital bill on my carelessness. B-But I was just a kid, y’know?”

“Mm.”

“So I thought that I had to go with him in order to make things right. He just..back then, he wasn’t okay and I thought I could make’em better. But I couldn’t. I used to think he sent me away because I couldn’t fix him.”

Something wet landed on Dean’s hand. He didn’t look. He already knew.

“Then, I realized that I didn’t do a damn thin’. It took me a damn while. None of it was my fault. The only thing...that I could say was my fault was thinkin’ that I could fix him and then myself.”

“Are you saying that you don't think that you can fix yourself?”

Dean thought about this. “No. It's just always going to be there.”

Chuck nodded his head a bit. “It’s always going to be something that happened. Something you can’t change.”

“Yeah,” Dean cleared his throat.

“Are you scared of your past, Dean?”

Dean looked at him for a long time. He didn’t have an answer for him.

 

--

 

“What time did they say they’d be here again?” Jo muttered impatiently as she glanced at her watch.

Benny crossed the room and took her by the shoulders. She gave him a weary look.

“You can go pee, JoAnna. I promise you won’t miss a thing.”

Jo landed a hefty punch to his gut, but Benny only laughed.

“B’cause you’re so funny,” she drawled. “

Dean was sitting in Castiel’s living room, petting a docile Midnight on her head while he watched the two bicker. Over the last few weeks, he watched as Benny and Jo grew closer and closer, becoming more and more into each other with every day that passed.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Benny was a question mark in Dean’s head. He came to town on a stormy night and working at Icarus Cafe within the next month. When Benny decided to take over the shop, Bobby helped him with a single condition: that Dean could continue to work there. Jo took up a job there because she’d “be damned if I let him go it alone.”

“Gabe said he was stopping by a burger joint with Cas. In his own words, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Dean laughed. Of course Cas would stop for a burger.

“Is he on drugs?”

Benny didn’t talk much about his life before Lawrence. He’d only ever spoken about music, news, and his current life; however, from a drunk night with the older man, he learned that he was from St. Martinville and that he could never go back again.

So Dean never pushed him. He knew what that was like.

However, now the question rose in his mind: does Jo know about his life before Lawrence?

Dean sunk in his seat a little more as Cas suddenly appeared in his mind. Cas barely knew about his own past, yet he was willing to be with Dean. He’s never asked for more than just the necessities, and he’s made Dean very happy. In a sense, Benny and Jo were similar to Dean and Cas. Right?

“Dean?”

He looked up, catching Benny’s baby blues. His eyebrows were raised comically, and his arms were crossed over his chest, though he looked at him with a curious expression.

“Alright, brother? You look like yer havin’ an internal bloodbath.”

Dean hesitated.

“What’s up?”

His hands reached for a notepad on the table, searching his pockets for a pen before Benny reached over with one between his fingers. Dean wrote something down and passed it over for Benny to read.

Sometimes, he preferred writing it out.

How come you never talk about your past?

Dean felt surprised when Benny gave him a smile.

“If you’re wondering about whether or not I was a serial killer, y’could just ask.”

Dean huffed humorously. Benny sat back.

“I don’t know. It’s just one of those things I don’t like talking about. Nothing you bring up at a tea party, but I’ll tell ya.”

Jo rounded a corner, peeking into view from Cas’ kitchen, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

“You best not be pressuring him, Dean,” she warned.

Benny rolled his eyes, “He just asked Jo.”

Dean stuck his tongue out. Jo huffed.

“So,” Benny slapped his hands to his knees, sitting up straighter. “It’s just like any ole story you’d hear in those teen shows. My mom was a sniffer, my dad was a jerk, and I was the only kid they made suffer for it.”

Dean watched Benny’s mood shift minimally, but he could tell that the man was trying to remain neutral. His hands tensed a little around his knees.

“I left on a Tuesday, I think. It got pretty bad, and I’d been planning to leave for a while, but I didn’t wanna give up on them like that, y’know?” He sighed, lifting a hand to scratch his beard. “My dad found one of my duffles and thought that maybe if he hit me hard enough, it’d keep me there. I left the next morning.”

Chancing a glance at Jo, who now sat at the edge of the couch, had a hand hanging by her side. Benny took it.

“They were shit parents, but when I was driving, all I wanted to do was go back. I think it was b’cause it was familiar. Home, but not really.” Benny finally looked away from Dean, glancing at his hands and then back at Jo. “I called Bobby. Helped me through the entire trip here.Met me at the state lines when my car broke down and took me to here. I planned on bein’ a drifter like some guy i’d seen in a show,” Benny chuckled. “But Bobby, the asshole, told me my appetite was too big to be living city by city and told me, in his own words, “to park my self-loathing ass” here in Lawrence. So I never left.”

Dean hummed, then cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” he spoke earnestly. Dean could relate to how difficult it felt to talk about the past. Benny was a lot braver than Dena was, if he was being honest.

“Nah, it’s all good, brother. You’re my friend, and you should know, y’know?”

Dean’s stomach hurt.

 

-- 

 

A while later, the handle on the door began to jiggle, alerting to Dean that someone was here. Cas was home.

Midnight barked.

“Should I get the door for them, or-”

A laugh chimed from the other side of the door, followed by muffled words that belonged to Gabriel.

“Fuck off, Gabe,” rang clear as day as door opened.

Benny stifled a laugh and Jo covered her mouth as the brothers came through the door. Gabriel’s eyes rose comically as he held the door open, letting a hunched over Castiel come through the door.

“Never knew you were such a potty mouth, Cas,” Benny said, standing from his spot on the couch.

Cas perked up, looking as if he’d just realized there were people in the room. His eyes scanned the room, landing on Jo, then Dean. A small smile perked at his lips as Benny pulled him into a hug.

“Welcome home, buddy.”

“Thank you, Benny.”

Cas looked tired, to say the least. His hand was wrapped in a white bandage, and his good hand was tucked underneath his arm, resting over where Dean assumed his ribs were healing. His face healed pretty well with only a few yellow areas left from the bruises that John left. Dean recognized the flannel hanging over his shoulders as one of Gabe’s, and Castiel’s jaw was covered in a fully grown beard.

Rumpled and rugged never looked so good on Cas.

Dean was afraid to stand, but he was grateful for the simply fact that he’d run out of shirts this morning, leaving him to grab on of Sam’s longer ones.

Jo pulled herself from her hug with Cas, moving on to punch Gabriel in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“We’ve been waiting here almost a three hours, and you didn’t think to bring some food?”

Cas looked at Dean, shifting his weight onto his next leg, ignoring the entire interaction between Jo and Gabriel.

“Dean.”

Dean was already crossing the room. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around Castiel. He smelled clean, too clean for Dean’s liking, and Dean sighed.

He’d missed him so much.

“Missed you, Dean.”

Dean buried his head in his neck, sighing again. Finally, he pulled away, giving him a smile. He didn’t really know what to do, now that he was here.

 

Benny cooked dinner, batting and pushing Gabriel out of the kitchen while Jo swirled in a chair. Dean and Cas sat close on the couch, catching each other up on their weeks apart.

“...and the doctor, who also happened to be your grandfather-”

“Grandpa Samuel?”

“-he comes in, holding Gabriel by a literal collar. We still do not have an inkling of a clue as to why Gabriel had it around his neck, and he refuses to speak.”

Dean chuckled, catching Gabriel’s wistful eyes from across the room. He had his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the kitchen doorway with a scoff.

“So I mixed the pot with a Nurse Jackie. Big whoop. Not all of us can find a Dean, Casanova. Or a Deanna, in my case-”

“My grandma.”

Gabriel paused. His eyebrows quirked together, a charming smile gracing his lips.

“Is she single?”

Dean made a face. Castiel scoffed in disgust.

“Brother, please.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t you remember Principal Sanders from high school?”

Castiel squinted a little, catching Dean’s eye.

So hot , Dean thought for a moment. He couldn’t wait to get him alone.

“You-. But-.” Castiel looked at his brother, his face screaming his confusion. “Really, Gabriel?”

Dean gave Gabriel a questioning look, earning a simple smirk in response.

 

--

 

“Is it strange for me to say that...the entire time I was in the hospital, all that I could think about was being with you again?”

Dean had followed Castiel into his room after Jo and Benny left. Midnight sat at the foot of Castiel’s bed while they lay across his bed. Their hands were interlocked, Dean’s thumb rubbing across Castiel’s, his eyes locked on the ceiling above them.

Dean hummed.

“I kind of-uh. I missed kissing you, as well.”

Dean turned his head, giving the other man a childish grin.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Castiel said bashfully. “I would say it's a progressed crush, but I somehow feel as like we passed that."

Dean scoffed. The man took a beating for his father, got a peak of his fucked up existence, and still wanted to be with him. They were way passed crushing. He was in it for the long run, Dean thought to himself.

I dreamed about you, sometimes. Is that, um, odd?”

Dean looked at Cas for a long time, feeling something stir in his chest. “What kind of dreams?”

Castiel blinked, and suddenly he was blushing. He looked away from his green eyes, clearing his throat and squeezing the other’s hand tightly. Dean laughed, sitting up.

“It’s not funny, Dean.” Castiel spoke miserably, lifting his other hand and splaying his fingers across his face nervously. “Ow.”

Dean laughed harder. Cas frowned under his hands.

“Cas,” Dean breathed out, leaning down and hovering over Cas. Cas moved a finger and stared at Dean with a soft blue eye. He closed his eye and huffed.

“Same.”

“Do not toy with me, Dean. This is embarrassing enough.”

“‘m serious.”

Castiel peeked a glance between his fingers again, locking his eye with Dean. He moved his hand down and rolled his eyes, something Dean wasn’t expecting, and huffed out a sigh.

“I am hardly something to dream about.”

Dean backed up, making a face. What?

“What?”

Castiel gave him a strange looking, sitting up and turning his body to Dean and wincing.

“I-” Castiel was interrupted by Gabriel’s voice, calling his name from the other side of the door. “I will be right back.”

Dean watched him go. He found it hard to believe that Castiel could be the least bit of insecure about his looks. Castiel, to say the least, resembled the models in the magazine, from his alluring blue eyes to his lean physique. He was every freshman high school girl’s dream boy. Sure, he looked like a rumbled, wet kitten from time to time, but the look was a look that only suited Cas.

Dean remembers the first time he laid eyes on Cas. It was on a hot day in July of last year. Dean was working the back room, flinching at the sound of the bells and constantly itching at his inner arms. He had stuck his head out to check and see if the coast was clear, and instead found himself looking at a mop of black hair standing shyly at the counter. Benny had his back to him, pouring a fresh cup of coffee into one of the paper cups. Cas’ blue eyes were darting around the place. He had his hands shoved into his denim pockets and a loose, grey v-neck hanging from his lean shoulders. His skin was pale, a contrast to Benny’s sunburned skin as he handed him the cup.

Cas was hot, there was no denying that.

“Dean?”

Dean shook his head, pushing the memory back and found Castiel standing in front of him. He ditched the flannel, now wearing a gray v-neck similar to the one in Dean’s memory of Cas. It hung lower, his collar bones poking out. He scratched at his beard nervously, and his fingers twitched underneath the white wrappings.

Dean stood and brought himself closer to Castiel.

“Your hot. No joke.”

Castiel blushed, averting his eyes to Dean’s chest. Black, thick lines poked out from the collar of his shirt, and Castiel was staring at them.

“There are better looking people in this world.”

“They’re not you, Cas.”

Castiel brought his eyes back up to Dean’s, and Dean felt his heart melt a little. Cas. He leaned forward, bringing his lips to Cas’ chapped lips, and decided that this was what he was waiting for.

Just Cas.

Cas’ lips moved slowly, hesitant at first, but Dean understood. His jaw must have been killing him. Dean brought his hand up to his jaw, caressing it gently, then moving it to the back of his head. His fingers brushed a tuft of hair, and he went to tangle his hands in the mop of hair, only to have a band stop him.

Dean pulled back slowly, chancing a glance at the band in his hand. He hadn’t realized that Castiel’s hair had been in a ponytail. Now that it was between his fingers, Dean found himself looking over the longer strands of hair. He’d forgotten that being in a hospital meant no haircuts.

Dean laughed, and Cas tipped his head to the side.

“Dude. Haircut.”

Suddenly, Gabriel appeared in the doorway, peeking his head over Castiel’s shoulder with a happy smile stretching across his face. Dean took a step back.

“Gabriel,” Cas sighed.

Midnight yipped from her place on the floor, standing and approaching Dean’s hand to give it a lick. Dean reached down to ruffle her fur, but she licked him before he got the chance. Then, she approached Gabriel and gave his pant leg a sharp tug, causing him to laugh and pet her head.

“I used to cut his hair. I’m sure Cassandra here wouldn’t mind me doing so now, right Cas?”

“You will not.”

 

--

 

Later that night, Dean pulled his jacket on in preparation to leave. Castiel held a frown to his face, one that almost made Dean toss his jacket to the side and spend the night. The only thing stopping Dean was his fear that he'd have one of his nightmares while sleeping next to Cas, and that was something that he felt he could avoid a little longer. He put his hand out for the shorter man to take, waiting for a stubborn Cas to bring himself closer. Once he was close enough, Dean pulled him in, kissing him smack on the forehead and taking Cas by surprise. Cas relaxed a little, then snuggled himself into the nape of Dean's neck. 

"Stay over," his words were muffled by Dean's shirt.

He laughed, "Be back tomorrow. Get some rest."

As he pulled back, Dean watched Cas huff out a sigh before giving him a small smile. The taller man knelt down, giving Midnight a ruffle to the top of her head and a brief hug. 

He left.

Yeah, he'd definitely be back tomorrow.

 

Chapter Text

Hiya everyone :)

I know a lot of you are waiting on the next chapter and probably are wondering what's going on. But before I continue, let me say one thing: I WILL NOT BE ABANDONING THIS STORY.

Now that that is out of the way, I also want to say that there is nothing to truly fear. I'm going to be writing the last few chapters for Made of Stone, and then I'm going to start on maybe writing a prequel, but all of this won't be for a while. School is starting back up again, and this year is going to be my busiest yet. Also, I have work to focus on, so whatever time I get in between my busy life, I'll be editing the previous chapters.

Speaking of editing, I wanted to address the grammatical errors and such. I know that there is a lot to fix. I get that. It gets a little annoying when I read comments about them, and I get that there are a lot of errors and hanging lines that you guys find annoying, but you must understand that I've been working alone on this for a really long time. My eyesight is dumb, I get really excited once I've finished a chapter, and it's really sad to admit that I don't have the patience to read it over a few more times. A good friend of mine (let's call her D) has been such a blessing. Since summer break started, she's been going through all of the previous chapters and pointing out small mistakes and errors she comes across. This has been a lot of help, and this will probably help get future chapters out quicker in the future. So, clap it up for D!

For now, I'll be concentrating more on Golden State. It's easier to write because it was written from an idea I had a few years back. Also, I've been a little more patient with my writing and with myself and I've gone through what is written to make sure that it's near perfect.

Keep an eye out for random chapters. I get inspired at odd times of the night and end up banging out a whole chapter.

Thank's for reading :) I appreciate each and every single one of you.

Chapter Text

I make it hard to love me back
I know, I know
Just close your eyes and hold your breath
It won't be long before
Just like before, before I 
Just like you so

Killer Whales - James Vincent McMorrow

 

To his surprise, Castiel did not have many dreams about Dean’s birthday. Sure, a few faces in his dreams had been replaced with John’s drunk and dazed face and a few people looked more like Dean, but that was about it. Instead, Castiel dreamed about things that he had not dreamed about since first left home.

His father, for example, was someone he hadn’t dreamed about in a very long time. This dream usually started out with the old living room, empty of all of it’s furniture except for a loveseat that his father insisted on buying. The older Novak would tell stories there while Castiel and his siblings would sit around him. Instead, James Novak would sit alone in the chair, eyes downcast and repeating the words over and over, “I had to go.”

Some dreams were about his cousin, Raphael, and others were littered with his other siblings. One consisted of all of the members of his family, standing in a circle around Castiel, jolting rocks at his body, all screaming different slurs at him.

This dream was what he faced every night during his first week back home.

He’d spring forward in bed, chest heaving achingly, eyes darting around the dark room, fingers tangled in his sheets. He wasn’t to sure as to why the dreams came back, but he wished with all of his heart for them to go away.

He rested his elbows on his knees and let his face lay in his hands. His throat was dry, and he didn’t like how his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, so he sat up and grabbed the empty cup from his night stand. Maybe some water would help.

As he walked out of his room and down the hall, he noticed how eerily quiet his apartment was. Sometimes, Gabriel would sleep on the couch out of habit. The TV stayed on sometimes, but he knew that his brother had trouble sleeping at night. To Castiel’s surprise, the TV was off and his brother was bundled up on the couch with his back to the screen. Odd.

Castiel wandered into the kitchen, pushing the knob on the faucet up and lowering his cup into the sink. Once his cup was full, he replaced it with a second cup.

Castiel knocked the light switch down with his elbow and walked out of the kitchen, stopping at the lamp table to place the second glass beside the lamp.

Gabriel sniffed.

“Gabriel?”

Castiel went to place his hand on his brother’s shoulder, only noticing once he touched him that he was trembling. Castiel frowned. Carefully and without moving his hand, he seated himself on the floor, wincing a little at the amount of pressure that he placed on his right hand. He rubbed his arm up and down in a circular motion, leaning forward and resting his head on his brother’s back.

“Gabe?”

He earned a sigh in response. He felt movement under his hand and lifted his head to watch Gabriel was lie on his back. His chest was heaving up and down in quick paces, and his skin looked pale under the dim lamp light. Gabriel lifted a hand to his face, groaning inwardly as a tear slipped past his hand.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, sniffling again.

“I need to get you breathing right,” Castiel spoke softly, taking his brother’s hand and placing it on his chest. “Do you have your eyes closed?”

Gabriel grunted. He’d take that as a yes.

“Concentrate on my voice and try to mimic my breathing. Alright?”

He thought for a moment. There many things that Castiel could speak about with Gabriel, however, he was never sure of how his brother felt about things, or what really triggered him ,if he was being honest.

He was quiet for some minutes, the only noise being his audible breathing and Gabriel’s attempt at matching it. Then, it came to him.

“Do you remember the time that you and Balthazar pranked Michael on Anna’s birthday?”

A huff came from the older man.

“How can I forget that?”

Castiel’s lip twitched, “You somehow convinced him that Meg had a progressive crush on him. Do you recall the suit that he wore?”

A sputtered laugh left Gabriel’s chest, and his hand moved down from his eyes to his chest.

“Oh my God. He stole Uncle Zach’s cologne that night. He was so mad., Cassie. So mad.”

“And I hope you didn’t forget the earrings he tried to gift her.”

“The jade ones?”

Castiel changed the pitch of his voice, mocking an adolescent Michael with braces, “Jade like that of a dragon’s eyes-”

“Because you set fire to my heart!” Gabriel finished, sitting up to wrap his arms around his stomach, letting out an unrestrained and loud laugh. Castiel could not help but join him. His brother’s laugh was still the same: loud, interrupted by hiccups every other breath, and very contagious. He recalled Gabriel being one of the few people who could make him laugh in the Novak household. Although his side pinched, he didn’t care too much. He needed a good laugh right about now.

As their laughter died down, Castiel wiped at the tears that crawled down his face. His brother did the same as his laughter came down to quiet huffs. Then, it was quiet.

Castiel spoke first, “I was unaware of your anxiety attacks still happened.”

Gabe sighed, “Yeah. It’s been a while

“Is this the first time it has happened while you’ve been living with me?”

Scoffed, “No.”

Castiel stared at him. Gabriel sighed, throwing himself back against the couch and resting an arm over his face.

“Christmas. After I showed up here.”

It felt as though his heart took a hard kick from a baby. Nice going, Castiel.

He was quiet as he looked down at his hand. He took the wrappings off a few days ago, though he still found his hands unsteady and untrustworthy as he gripped them. He’d been so cold to Gabriel, his own brother. He’d been so hurt after he left, and had built a whole

“Hey, don’t do that,” Gabriel’s voice came through like the ding on a microwave.

Castiel looked up, barely lifting his head, and looked back down at his hands.

“It was my fault,” he muttered.

“It was both our faults, baby bro,” Gabriel leaned forward, resting a hand on Castiel’s slump shoulders. “You were a bit of a dick for the way you treated me, but I was a bigger dick for thinking that everything would be fine after pulling that disappearing act.” He sighed. “I wanted to call you, but I knew how sad you’d be and I couldn’t handle that. The minute I left, I knew this was something you wouldn't forgive me for.”

Castiel hesitated, looking down between his crossed legs at the glass of water he placed there. He lifted his head, “I-I wish you did call me. Raph..he was ruthless. And so were our uncles. Mom stopped coming home and Lucius and Michael were always fighting,” He paused, looking back down at the cup again. He added quietly, “Even with Anna around, it was still pretty lonely.”

Gabriel bit his lip, a look of anguish passing before a wiped the look with his hand.

“I’m sorry, little bro,” Gabriel’s hand touched his shoulder, squeezing and releasing. “Calling home..it was too much. I needed to find Dad. And when I decided to get in contact, our lovely uncles barred all communication that I had with any of you.”

Castiel thought for a moment.

“Gabe? You never told me..did you ever find Dad?”

Gabriel’s face was wiped of all emotions, suddenly growing too quiet for Castiel’s liking. Gabriel looked down at his hands for a little while, and he sighed softly.

“Yeah, I found him. Can we talk about this another time, baby bro?”

He understood. Nodding his head, he reached his hand up and gave Gabriel a light pat on his shoulder.

“I think you should sleep in your room for the rest of the night.”

“I think so, too.”

--

The long sigh that left Castiel’s sigh made Dean give him a long side eye. Castiel looked at Dean from under his eyelashes, a hand holding up his head while the other hand lay limp in his lap. He gave Dean a frustrated look before sighing again.

“Talk,” Dean said simply.

“I am a functioning semi-adult. I am fully capable of cooking for myself.”

Dean stifled a laugh. Castiel had called him over, hoping to have him to himself since Gabriel went out for the day. However, Dean found Castiel struggling to put spaghetti in boiling water. It was a little sad, he admitted to himself, that he could barely cook for himself, but he never trusted anyone aside from Balthazar and Gabriel to cook for him. Dean said as he began to stir a separate pot. Castiel’s stomach growled at the seductive scent that left the pot with every stir and wafted by his nose. His thoughts worried him.

Suddenly, Dean turned around, the large spoon dripping with yellow sauce, and he leaned against the island towards Castiel.

“Here,” Dean said softly, placing the spoon closer to his mouth, “taste.”

Castiel could feel his heart pick up a bit, and it wasn’t cause of Dean’s green eyes locking with his. It was a little more complicated than that. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, squinting when the warm metal met his tongue. A burst of different flavors spread through out his mouth; parsley, clove, cheese, tomato, and so much more. His stomach lurched a bit in desire for more, and Castiel couldn’t help the small moan that left his through.

When he opened his eyes, Dean was giving him a knowing look and a small smirk teased his lips.

“Good?”

Castiel nodded his head, too lost to find words. How did he even...?

“Dean, I have a very serious question.”

The fawn haired man lifted his brows in response.

“Are you secretly a professional chef?”

And Dean laughed, though Castiel gave him a very confused look. He said it was a serious question, no?

When he realized that Castiel was serious, he cleared his throat and shook his head, standing a little straighter.

“I’m baffled..Coming from a person who had all of his meals cooked for him by a professional cook, I haven’t tasted anything that good since I was eighteen.”

He watched Dean’s face color itself pink, creeping up from his neck. Abruptly, he turned from him and walked back over to the pot. Castiel, pushing himself from his chair, moved over to Dean and snaked his arms around the taller man’s stomach; however, before his hands could meet, Dean jumped. Castiel winced and recoiled, fumbling backwards and hitting his hip against the counter.

“Sorry,” Castiel huffed. “I simply...I thought a hug would uh-” His rib hurt a bit. “I shouldn’t have done that. Let me know when the food is ready.”

And without another word, Castiel turned and left the kitchen. He snaked his way around furniture until he reached the bathroom and closed the door.

Stupid. Castiel sighed. The man suffers from PTSD, for Christsakes. His side throbbed a bit, but he ignored it and opted to take a look at his hand. He felt so useless. His injuries left him feeling unable to do certain things, such as cleaning his apartment. Charlie came by earlier and ordered him to sit while she cleaned the apartment after hurricane Gabe left the building.

Useless.

A knock on the door made Cas jump, quickly dropping his hand from his sight and looking to the door.

“Cas?”

“Coming out.”

Castiel glanced the mirror. He really needed a haircut. Or something.

As he opened the door, he aimed his eyes towards Dean’s forehead, hoping to avoid the look he knew would be on his face. Dean, however, was a little smarter. He took a hand and placed it on Castiel’s cheek, waiting for him to lock his eyes before he spoke.

“What’s wrong?”

Castiel sighed.

“I feel like a messy compilation of a broken man and a teen going through hormonal puberty.”

Dean stifled a smile and wrapped his arms around the shorter man. Castiel sighed, letting his shoulders drop and eventually letting his head rest on his shoulder.

 

“I do not like feeling this way, Dean.”

“What way?”

“Useless,” Dean’s eyebrows quirked and Castiel sighed. “When I first moved out and came here, I did not know how to do a lot of things. People were always assisting me or doing things for me. And now..”

“Now, you’re recovering.” Dean muttered, giving Castiel a firm squeeze in his arms before pulling him back. “You...you saved me."

Dean planted a firm kiss to his forehead, startling Castiel slightly, but he closed his eyes. How’d he manage to get a man like Dean?

He squeezed Castiel again before letting him go, opting to snake his fingers between his.

“Food’s ready.”

--

Castiel licked his plate for good measure, only glancing at Dean with a teasing smile when the man finally stopped laughing. Dean’s food had made him lose his composure, having tasted the right amount of spice and salt to put him out of his bad mood, though watching Dean wash the dishes made him a little awkward. Instead of mopping, Cas grabbed a dry towel and dried each thing Dean washed, earning a side glance and a smile from him.

Not useless.

After the last dish was washed and dried, they settled into the living room and turned on the TV. Dean had disappeared for a moment, coming back with Castiel’s notebook and two pens. Sometimes, Dean didn’t feel like talking. Castiel realized that Dean had come a long way since John rolled into town, though he accepted the times that Dean opted for a pen and paper.

Some days and some random times, Dean just couldn’t bare it.

And Castiel understood.

My mom taught me how to cook before I left with my dad. She was a cook.

“Really? That explains her apple pie.”

Dean laughed a little, earning a small smile from the latter.

“You are very good. Have you ever considered being a cook?”

I never considered much. The most I’ve done is make a recipe book for Icaurus Cafe.

Castiel sat up. “Wait, those are your recipes i have been eating?”

I guess so.

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, leaning on his shoulder.

“What?” Dean looked slightly alarm.

“I’ve wanted to kiss the baker since I tasted the scone. I-I,” Castiel laughed nervously, “I considered Jo.”

“Jo?”

Dean broke out into a laugh, a whole hearted laugh that made Castiel’s ribs ache for him. Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him a little closer, letting his mouth rest against his hair and letting his laugh die out to a chuckle.

“Tell me the secret formula,” Castiel muttered, glancing up at Dean.

“Someday,” Dean mumbled quietly, kissing his head through his hair. “Haircut.”

“I know,” Castiel sighed, bringing his good hand up to touch the strands that now curled around his neck. “Maybe it’s long enough to donate?”

“Okay,” Dean pulled his arm from his shoulders and stood,” Get dressed.”

“Where are we going?”

--

“I would have preferred you told me I was unattractive with longer hair, Dean.” Castiel grumbled from the passenger side of Dean’s car.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” Dean said, leaving over to give Castiel a small peck on the cheek. “Get out.”

Castiel sighed. 

 

“Here comes my favorite customer! And you brought your friend!” Rufus said, leaving a customer in his chair.

“Hey!” The man began to protest, starting to stand from his chair.

Rufus turned abruptly, the wing hanging from his ear joggling as a hollered furiously.

“Hush up and sit yer ass down, Francis, before I cut yer ear off and tell yer Momma about little miss Candace, you hear me?”

The man’s eyes widened, and suddenly he looked his actual age. Castiel subconsciously tucked himself behind Dean, who laughed at both Rufus and Castiel.

“Anyways,” Rufus hushed, turning to look at Castiel and Dean, “looking way better, Cas. You, too, Dean.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean scratched at the back of his head. “Taking it slow.”

Rufus raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest for a second and then glancing at Castiel.

“Well, I reckon you didn’t come to chat. Shirley Temples, can you wait til I’m done with the idiot in my chair?”

“I’m still here,” grumbled the young man in the chair.

“Trust me, I’m trying to forget. I can’t seem to get the image of your big ass head out of my mind,” Rufus grumbled as he walked back over to the young man’s chair.

Castiel and Dean sat off to the side, Dean laughing quietly at the awe struck look the crossed his face.

“What?”

“Cute."

Castiel fought a smile and looked away from Dean. What would he do with him?

--

Running his fingers through his hair, Castiel felt a little normal again. Rufus threw in a nice touch up to his full beard, cutting it closer to his neck and neatly trimming the mustache.

Dean didn’t meet his eyes when he paid for the haircut, brushing Castiel’s hands from his pocket and clasping his good one. They said their farewells.

“You dislike my haircut.” Castiel stated what he thought was the plain.

Dean gave him a bewildered look.

And just like that, Dean swooped in. He held Castiel’s face in his hands gingerly, but his kiss was anything but. It felt different, heavier and needy as his bit Castiel’s lip and elicited a moan from blue eye’s lips. Castiel let his fingers find Dean’s neck, caressing the hairs that brushed his fingers as he deepened the kiss. Kisses like this often put his self control to the test, but it was worth it.

Dean let his mouth trail south, making Castiel’s breath hitch in his throat as Dean tugged lightly at the soft skin before running his tongue over it.

Shit.

Castiel let a small and breathy moan out of his mouth as Dean put his mouth to work, his fingers twisting in his hair when Dean pulled his V-Neck a little lower. Then, mouth at his shirt before lifting the soft material up.

“This okay?”

Castiel looked around. It was dark where they parked, and the superintendent never checked this corner of the parking garage. Dean laved his tongue around his nipple, bringing Cas back to reality with a gasp.

“More than okay.”

Dean smirked and huffed a laugh that washed over Castiel. His skin felt hot under Dean’s gaze, causing him to feel a little self-conscious. Dean must have suspected this because he swooped in for another kiss, much gentler, but still holding the same amount of heaviness the previous kiss had before.

“Hot,” Dean muttered against his lips.

Castiel breathed in, watching Dean’s eyebrows quirk as he unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed himself forward again. He kissed him again, this time taking Castiel’s shirt off in the process. He kissed a trail lower, stopping to give his nipples attention before reaching the lower half of Castiel’s abdomen. He could see a look of appreciation in Dean’s eyes as his eyes landed on the bulge the was pushing against his jeans. He could feel a blush rising up his skin, making him feel even hotter, though he nodded his head for Dean to continue.

“Only if you’re sure,” he added.

Dean gave him a dazzling smirk, causing Castiel to break out into a smile before gasping as he watched his green eyes grow dark as he unbuttoned his jeans and push them further down his ankle. His erection was a little more obvious through his boxers, and now it was Dean’s turn to gawk. He’d been told by previous partners, both men and women, that he had a “third leg”, though he never dared allowed himself to truly think about it for varying reasons, one of them being the uneasy feeling that his uncle, wherever he was, could read his mind. Now as not the time for those thoughts, however. .

“Whoa.”

“Is-is it a bad thing?” Castiel asked nervously, suddenly wishing he had a blanket or something.

“Nah.”

And suddenly, Dean’s hands were around his semi-erect cock, the skin red and angry from the amount of tension Castiel had wound up in his body. He gave a teasing look to Castiel before taking his full length in his mouth and lowering his head, eliciting a long moan from Castiel’s mouth. His nails dug into the fabric of the chair, and his head lulled to the side as Dean put his mouth to work. Every lick, every movement had Castiel restraining the convulsions that threaten to rip from his body. The sound of Dean’s slurping, the bobbing of his head, the sudden stop Dean made to take his tongue and trail one long lick up the length of his cock were all leading to the inevitable. Dean pulled back, letting his hand take over with long and slow strokes.

“De...Dean,” Castiel said breathlessly, moaning again as he struggled to keep his body from moving.

A squeeze made him gasp.

His eyes opened wide as he looked and locked his eyes onto Dean’s forest green ones, one hand on the base and the other massaging his balls gently..

“Cum,” Dean said before wrapping his lips around his red, swelling tip.

Castiel’s hips bucked and his sight was fuzzy, the knot in his lower stomach unwound, and he could feel Dean’s mouth tighten as he let go. His fingers were ripping through the leather, he was sure. His chest heaved up and down as his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He could vaguely feel Dean trailing his way back up to Castiel, kissing every inch that was visible until he was hovering over Cas’s lips.His eyes began to focus again, his breathing still erratic as before. Then, he leaned forward.

Then he kissed him.

--

As Dean pushed the door to Castiel’s room open, letting the man walk past him in a slight daze, Castiel came to a sudden halt. He turned and looked at Dean, a nervous look taking over as he suddenly fiddled with his shirt. Dean came closer, gathering him in his arms and kissing his forehead.

“Stay,” Castiel said quietly, hesitating but looking up into his forest greens.

Dean held him tighter.