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Dean didn’t ask how Castiel was alive for a long while afterwards. Part of him just didn’t want to know in case it was something that would turn his stomach; he didn’t want to upset the peace that they’d created here.
As far as Dean was aware, Castiel was just as human as he was before Michael took him up to Heaven - hell, sometimes he seemed even more human. He never mentioned being able to hear the hum of angelic voices in the back of his mind, and when they hunted Castiel never used Grace to attack anymore. He relied solely on knives and guns, which he was getting better at wielding.
Sam had changed a little, too.
He was starting to withdraw from hunting. Dean had noticed it slowly at first, and then it became more apparent when he realised he’d only had Castiel at his side for hunts for the last few. The part of Dean that still clung to their lives before Heaven’s rise to power felt agony over what first appeared to be the loss of Sam, but Dean forced himself to let it go. It was what Sam wanted, and so he wouldn’t question it.
Besides, Sam wasn’t gone forever. He was still in the bunker, still giving them what information they needed to take down the monster of the week. It helped.
Dean thought that it was because of this that it took weeks before he asked Castiel about his Grace. The distraction of making sure he was comfortable with Sam’s new occupation had sucked him in a little, consuming his attention until he was finally settled. Now that his head was clearer than ever before, however, Dean was ready to know.
He needed to know.
He decided to do it in a safe place. That safe place happened to be the bedroom he shared with Castiel - previously his, but it had long become theirs. Dean still felt warm with happiness at the thought.
He sat up in bed, his laptop propped up on his knees as he idly surfed the internet, scanning news websites. Castiel was beside him with a book in his lap. Oddly, Castiel seemed to like sitting cross-legged, even in bed, hunched over whatever was occupying him. Dean found it a little endearing, truth be told. He tilted his head as he looked at him, a fond smile on his lips.
The little glowing bottle rested against Castiel’s clavicle. It had stayed on constantly since his return, even when Castiel was undressed, like now. Dean would even dare to say that Castiel wore it when he showered. He’d grown used to the unnatural light of it; it was so soft that it didn’t even disturb his sleep.
Castiel was a normal human. Dean thought so, anyway; he ate, slept, used the bathroom, showered, and he definitely enjoyed sex. He gladly indulged Dean’s previously hidden love for cuddling, and he’d gained a love for music of all genres. While he found both brothers’ fascination for movies interesting, Castiel didn’t enjoy all of them, finding some of the plotlines too unbelievable.
Dean was also pretty sure he could call what he felt for Castiel ‘love’, even if he hadn’t said it out loud yet.
“Hey, Cas?”
Now that the conversation had started Dean couldn’t stop it, and he wouldn’t let himself either, even if he was nervous about it. He was committed.
Castiel looked up, his fingertip holding his place on the page. The bottle gave the underside of his chin a light blue glow. “Yes, Dean?”
Dean folded the laptop shut and pushed it towards the end of the bed, occupying his hands with the comforter instead. He nodded towards him. “What’s the deal with the glowstick? And what happened up top?”
Understanding smoothed over Castiel’s features. He folded the corner of his book - which Sam hated as it creased the pages, but Castiel hadn’t started the habit of using a bookmark yet - and he put it down by the laptop. He turned to face Dean, his knee sticking out from underneath the duvet. His gaze drifted though, shifting away from him to stare into space instead.
“This…” Castiel raised his hand, fingers tangling in the string around the bottle’s neck. “It was a gift from Michael - a fulfilment of his promise to bring me back to Earth. It took so long because it was... complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Dean’s eyebrows lifted, eyes dropping to watch Castiel’s fingers for a moment before moving back to his face.
Castiel hummed quietly. “My Grace was consumed in Metatron’s spell. There was no way to rescue it or restore it. I don’t know whether it was destroyed when he used it or whether ending the spell caused that, but there wasn’t anything that could be done. We had to search for other alternatives.”
He cupped the bottle in his palm, lifting it to study it. The glow the bottle cast moved from Castiel’s chin to his nose and lips as he squinted at it. “We had to try several things. Michael couldn’t simply craft me a soul; that wasn’t possible. My soul was something I’d gained since Falling, but it’s not a soul in the same way that yours is. It’s different, still angelic in a way, since I didn’t fall in the same way.
“It carries traces of Grace, but they’re sour.” Castiel huffed, clearly unimpressed with that fact. “I can’t feel them, but they’re there. If left to their own devices, they’d likely end up killing me.”
Dean’s heart clenched in a sickening way, but Castiel continued talking.
“What Michael did was rather intelligent.” Castiel pinched the string just above the bottle’s cork, holding it out to Dean to show him. “He gave me traces of healthy Grace in this bottle. It’s nothing like the store Gabriel has - it’s just enough to support what’s inside me and keep it from becoming deadly. For all intents and purposes, I’m human.”
It was pretty much exactly what Dean wanted to hear - minus the potential death, of course. He let out a sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, nodding. “Alright. So, you’re good?”
Castiel smiled a little. “I’m good.”
“Good.” Dean let out a quiet laugh.
He leaned into the hug Castiel offered him, chuckling when he pressed his nose in against his neck. “Stop saying good, Dean,” Castiel murmured into his shoulder, “it’s stopped sounding like a word.”
Dean laughed again, arms tight around Castiel. “Whatever.” And, before he could stop himself, he added, “Love you.”
Castiel drew him closer, and Dean felt a feather-light kiss against his skin. “I love you too, Dean.”
That was all he really needed to be comforted.