Archive of Our Own

stars were falling deep in the darkness

as prayers rose softly, petals at dawn

was this the question pulling you

in your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?

“‘It’s just m-m-mildly c-c-cursed,’ huh?” Dean’s hands, as they’re guiding Castiel to sit down in the backseat, are gentle. His voice, however, as he parrots Castiel’s words back at him, is scathing. “‘Not gon-n-na do anyth-th-thing to an angel.’ So m-m-much for th-that.”

“The counterspell that Sam cast worked,” Castiel counters, trying to hold back his own irritation. He’s weary and sore and just wants to go home. “And we found the object, solved the case. My grace just needs to recover. It’s fine, Dean.”

Judging from the way Dean glares down at him, eyes hard and jaw set, it is not fine. Without another word, he turns and throws the Impala’s keys at Sam, who barely catches them. Then he stalks over to Castiel’s truck, gets in, and drives off. 

An ache spreads through Castiel’s chest that he knows has little to do with the lingering effects of the curse.

Sam looks after his brother for a moment and then he sighs, fumbling with the keys. Eileen puts a hand on his arm and starts signing, expression soft with sympathy. Castiel turns away to give them privacy, trying to settle into a more comfortable position. It’s just then that Jack returns from using the restroom in the diner down the street.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sitting down beside Castiel in the back, his eyes and voice filled with concern. 

Castiel tries to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, I just need to rest.”

Sam and Eileen get in the car and Sam guides the Impala off the dilapidated parking lot and towards the road. Jack looks around with a frown.

“Where’s Dean?” He must notice that Castiel’s truck is gone also, and answers his own question. “Oh, I understand. He is angry with you because he’s worried.”

Castiel sighs, shifting in his seat.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

It’s not even noon yet, but it’s a four hour drive back to the bunker and they’ve all been up all night. Jack falls asleep first, curled up against the window with his head pillowed on one of the blankets Dean keeps in the car. Eileen soon follows, safely tucked into Sam’s side. 

Castiel stares out the window, sometimes grimacing at a particularly uncomfortable twinge in his chest as his grace is hard at work.

“Cas, you okay?”

Sam is speaking quietly so as not to wake Jack. Castiel meets his eyes in the rearview mirror and nods.

“I just need to rest.” A part of him wants to leave it at that. But Sam is his friend, and in the interest of honesty, he adds, “I hate it when we fight.”

“I know. Us too.”

“But this wasn’t even that bad. I was merely out for a few seconds, and—”

“Uh, try more like fifteen minutes, Cas.” At Castiel’s confused frown, Sam adds, “It took me a moment to throw that spell together. Not even Jack could wake you up. Your heart wasn’t even beating.”

“It doesn’t need to beat,” Castiel points out grumpily, but he deflates at the look Sam gives him. “I didn’t know I was out that long, it didn’t feel that way to me.”

“I know, Cas.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was a miscalculation.”

“I know.”

They lapse into silence for a bit, but Castiel gets the feeling that there is more that Sam wants to say. His hands fidget on the wheel—not like Dean, who would drum his fingers on it. Sam slides them over the leather and repositions his grip several times. 

“You get that this is more than just what happened today, right?”

Castiel is tired and was almost dozing, but now he feels wide awake as Sam’s words fill him with confusion and alarm.

“What do you mean?”

Sam hesitates. 

“Have you noticed Dean acting strange lately?”

Castiel opens his mouth but then pauses, frowns. He wants to say that Dean being moody sometimes isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but then he thinks. Dean’s been quiet, by turns clingy and distant. He’s been keeping to himself during group activities, claiming to be tired. Which made sense because he hasn’t been sleeping well, but now that Castiel looks back on the last couple of days, it feels like he has been missing something.

“Remember what we started making plans for a few days ago?” Sam asks quietly, his tone gentle, obviously trying to nudge Castiel’s thoughts in the right direction. 

Castiel nods but frowns, not understanding. What do their plans for Jack’s surprise birthday party have to do with this?

“Remember what else happened on that day three years ago? To you, right in front of us?”

Oh.

Sam must interpret Castiel’s dismayed expression correctly. He sends him a soft smile in the rearview mirror, but it’s sad. 

“Dean knows how much it means to you to celebrate that day. And he’s trying very hard to make up for how he treated—well, you know. He wants to do right by both of you. But the reminder—” Sam blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I didn’t get it at the time, but Cas, if you hadn’t come back, I don’t think Dean would have ever recovered.”

Swallowing heavily, Castiel has to close his eyes for a moment and breathe. Please don’t suffer in silence like this, he had asked of Dean all those months ago when Dean had finally confessed his need for more physical affection. It doesn’t feel right to be cross with Dean for hiding this though, not when he thinks about how overwhelmed with guilt and, yes, trauma Dean must be at the prospect of Jack’s birthday. And then to have to see Castiel like this today, unconscious and so similar to how it must have looked when he was dead...

“What do you think I should do?” Castiel asks at length, slumping further in his seat.

This time the smile Sam sends him is more encouraging than sad. “For now, get some rest. And then talk to him. Let him know that if he can’t be there, if it’s too much, no one will blame him. But I think it will be good for him to be there, so he can start associating that day with better things, happy memories.”

Castiel nods. “Thank you, Sam. Do we have another blanket?”

“Under your seat.”

It’s not that he’s cold, but he feels emotionally drained and in need of comfort. The blankets in the car aren’t as soft as the ones Dean keeps piling on his—their—bed, but it still helps a little. It hasn’t occurred to him before how used he has gotten to having Dean’s warmth near him. 

Settling back, he closes his eyes, hoping to be home soon.

>

When they arrive in the bunker’s garage, Dean is already there, leaning against Castiel’s truck. He has his arms crossed over his chest, his expression completely closed off. 

The moment Sam turns off Baby’s engine, Dean's there, opening the backseat door. Castiel lets Dean help him stand, and they make their way to their room together, Castiel leaning on Dean. Dean doesn’t say a word and determinedly avoids Castiel’s eyes. 

“Dean—” he tries as Dean settles him on the bed and starts tugging at Castiel’s laces. Dean doesn’t react, his head ducked down and shoulders rigid. His jaw is clenched so tight his teeth must hurt, and his lower lids are brimming with tears. Castiel can feel his own throat close up at the sight. After taking off Castiel’s shoes, Dean then helps him out of his trenchcoat and blazer. 

“Dean, it’s okay. I—” Castiel tries to reach for him but Dean shifts away and throws the blanket over Castiel’s legs. He fills a glass of water at the sink, slams it down on the nightstand, throws the TV remote on the bed and then storms out of the room. 

Shortly after, there’s a knock on the half-open door, and Sam sticks his head in. 

“Hey. You okay?” 

Cas sighs and shakes his head. 

“You want some company?”

Please, Castiel wants to say, but— “Aren’t you tired?”

Sam shrugs, and then drags a chair over so he can sit at Castiel’s side. He offers him a smile. “Yeah, but if I lie down now it will just mess up my sleep schedule.” He grabs the remote. “Want to watch something? Eileen’s skyping with a friend and Jack’s playing a video game. I’m bored, you’d be doing me a favor.”

Castiel is pretty sure Sam is just humoring him at this point, but he’s grateful nonetheless. They end up watching some kind of documentary. Castiel doesn’t know what it’s about, too weary and distracted to pay attention. The images and sounds of nature are soothing, but the sight of Dean’s unshed tears has left Castiel restless and sad. 

About an hour after they turned on the TV, Dean finally returns. Sam, who had been dozing in his chair, startles awake but Dean doesn’t look at either of them. He’s wearing a bathrobe and toweling his hair dry. He must have just showered, but there's still a faint smell of chlorine, so he probably swam laps down in the bunker’s pool. Ever since they discovered it and got it running again, Dean has turned to it for stress relief. 

Dean starts rummaging through his drawer, his back to them. Sam clears his throat.

“Well, I guess Eileen’s done with her Skype call by now, I’m gonna go see what she’s up to.” He gets up and offers Castiel a brief smile. “Hope you feel better soon, Cas. See you later.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel answers weakly. The door clicks shut and then they’re alone. 

Dean has picked out a gray hoodie and some sweatpants, and he changes into them, his back still to Castiel. He throws his towel and robe haphazardly in the direction of the couch, and then he lies down on the bed beside Castiel on his side, turned away from him. 

“Dean...” Reaching for the remote, Castiel shuts off the TV and then puts a hand on Dean’s back between his shoulder blades. Dean doesn’t tense or shift away from the touch, but Castiel can feel fine tremors running through him. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. It—Sam told me how long it took until I came to. I wasn’t aware.”

Dean remains silent, but Castiel knows him well enough to understand that his stillness is merely a false front holding back a flood of emotion. 

"He also—he made me realize why Jack's birthday coming up is causing you so much stress." Now, Dean tenses all down his body. Castiel strokes his back soothingly with his thumb where he's still resting his hand. "And Dean, if it's too hard, you don't have to be there. We'll understand. But Sam thinks it will be good for you to be there, and I agree. It's—"

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. He shakes his head in an almost desperate way and then covers it protectively with both of his arms, hiding himself from sight. 

It was too much. Castiel only meant to reassure and calm Dean, but it seems he achieved the opposite of it. He starts to apologize but Dean interrupts him, his voice hoarse and thick with tears.

"You're s'pposed-d-d t-t-to—r-r-rest." 

Castiel wants to say that he can't rest while Dean's in pain, but he stops himself when he realizes that that would only cause Dean to feel guilty for his emotions. He can't think of what the right thing to say would be either though. His body aches all over and he just wants to lie back and close his eyes, but not like this. 

"I will, but I'd like to hold you. May I?"

Castiel shimmies down the bed, shifts onto his side and opens his arms. 

Dean rolls over and tucks himself under Castiel's chin, arms going around him. Stroking a hand slowly up and down Dean's back, Castiel waits for the moment Dean becomes pliant in his arms, but it doesn't come. 

Instead, Dean's at first loose hold on him becomes clinging. Castiel can hear him swallow compulsively several times, can feel his chin wobble. The fabric over his chest starts to become wet. 

"It's okay, Dean," he says, but Dean shakes his head.

"Hate al-l-l-w-w-ways— c-c-crying-g-g." 

It comes out watery and strangled, but the shame and anger Dean is directing at himself are loud and clear.

"It's okay," Castiel repeats, determined to help and yet helpless. Dean's self-loathing sometimes still seems like an insurmountable enemy. Castiel kisses Dean’s hair, holds him. "I'm here." 

Somehow, Dean manages to burrow even deeper into him. It takes a while, but he finally cries himself to sleep, his breath deepening and his body going lax in Castiel's hold. 

After moving the blanket so it covers both of them, Castiel settles back in, finally able to rest. Dean's warmth and his heartbeat soothe him into an almost sleep-like state, and he only startles awake when there's a soft knock on the door. 

"Cas? We cooked dinner. Can you tell Dean to come eat?"

Focusing bleary eyes on the alarm clock on the nightstand, he sees that they've both been out for at least four hours.

"Of course," he answers, his voice hoarse, disgruntled at having been woken. "Give us a moment."

Sam leaves, and Castiel looks down at Dean who's still sleeping with his head pillowed on Castiel's chest. He's loath to wake him, but the last time Dean ate something is now almost 24 hours ago. It's not good for him to skip meals, especially with how much stress he's already under. 

Gently, Castiel cups Dean's cheek and strokes over the dried tear tracks with his thumb until Dean stirs. 

"Sam says they made dinner. You should eat."

Dean blinks in disorientation for a moment, then turns away and shakes his head. 

"Just a little,” Castiel coaxes. “I'll even sit with you. And then we can come back here and cuddle without your stomach growling at both of us all night." 

Dean rolls his eyes but he does get up, fighting his way out from under the blanket. Castiel is congratulating himself on his persuasion tactic until Dean tries to help him stand and he's suddenly hit by a wave of dizziness. 

With a groan, he sits back down on the bed, his head in his hands. Dean is on him immediately, holding him steady by the shoulders, ducking his head and trying to peer into his eyes. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Maybe I've been lying down too long." 

He tries to give Dean a reassuring smile but then ruins it by grimacing when his grace causes another uncomfortable twinge in his chest. Before he can protest, Dean has pushed him back to lean against the headboard and lifted his legs back onto the bed. Dean tucks him in, forces the glass of water in his hands, and then stalks out the door.

He returns a few minutes later, carrying a tray that he sets down on the bed. There are two bowls on it with curry rice and chicken. Dean glares at the untouched water in Castiel's hands, and then replaces it with one of the bowls. 

Castiel tries to protest—his grace isn't so weak that he requires sustenance, so food will be wasted on him. Dean matches him in stubbornness though, and though he doesn't say anything, it's clear that he will spoon-feed him if he keeps resisting. 

Finally, Castiel relents and eats, if only so Dean can start eating himself. With a huff, Dean picks up his own bowl, and then throws the TV remote to Castiel. He doesn't seem to care what they watch, which is more than unusual. 

The food doesn't taste as much of molecules as it should, and Castiel refuses to think about what that implies. 

After bringing their empty bowls back to the kitchen, Dean goes through his nighttime routine and then shuts off the light and climbs into bed. 

"I want to read," Castiel complains grumpily, but Dean ignores him. With a put-upon sigh, Castiel takes off everything except for his underwear and then lies down next to him on his side. 

After throwing the blanket over them both, Dean tangles their legs together and tucks himself close, searching for Castiel's hand. He grips it tightly when he finds it and then settles, his breath warming the skin over Castiel's heart.

Dean hasn't said a word since he cried earlier. It's not unusual for him to go nonverbal when in distress or when he has a bad speech day, but Castiel isn't sure which one it is right now. When he asks about it, Dean blocks three times before finally getting out "T-t-too ha-a-ard-d-d." 

Castiel takes that to mean it's a mix of both. He shifts his hand out from under Dean's so he can hold it in turn, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

Over the course of the night, Castiel doesn't quite sleep, but he definitely isn't awake most of the time either. He notices when Dean gets up to use the bathroom, and when he tucks himself closer again after having shifted away in his sleep. When Dean gets restless with bad dreams, Castiel wakes enough to stroke over Dean's chest until he calms again, and then he dozes off like that, his hand being lifted up and down in time with Dean's slow breaths. 

Dean must have turned off his alarm, but they both wake up grumpy anyway. While Dean leaves to take a quick shower, Castiel washes his face and brushes his teeth. They feel fuzzy after he had eaten last night and then not cleaned them after, and that irritates Castiel as well. 

By the time they make it to the kitchen, the others are already halfway through breakfast. Dean only eats a small portion of scrambled eggs but drinks a lot of coffee, which is completely unfair since he only lets Castiel have one mug but forces a PB&J sandwich on him. He still isn't talking, and completely ignores Sam and Eileen flirting across the table in between shooting Dean and Castiel worried looks. 

After, Dean ushers him right back to bed. Completely ignoring Castiel's protests, he turns on the TV, gives him the remote, and then busies himself with laundry. 

For a while, Castiel sits and sulks. He has to admit, though, that it does help to lie down, as he still feels quite weary. The uncomfortable twinges that had plagued him yesterday have lessened, but he knows better than to try and use his grace yet. 

He doesn't feel like watching anything, but the TV is there and it's already on, so he finally gives in and switches to the program he thinks will irritate him the least. 

When Dean returns with a fresh load of laundry in his arms, he only quirks an eyebrow at the Antiques RoadShow marathon that’s playing, and then immerses himself in household chores again. After putting the laundry away, he leaves their room again only to appear seemingly out of nowhere the moment Castiel tries to get up. 

“I just wanted to get some water,” Castiel grouses, but Dean isn’t having it. He pushes Castiel back to sitting and fills the glass at the sink. Then he curls up on the bed next to him, watching the TV with a closed-off expression. 

After a while, Castiel starts to fidget. It’s uncomfortable to sit, no matter how he arranges the pillows behind him. “My back hurts,” he complains. “I need to walk around.” Nevermind that he still gets dizzy when he does that, he can’t sit like this any longer.

Dean has other ideas. After rummaging through their nightstand for the massage oil, he motions for him to take off his shirt and lie down on his stomach. 

Usually with them, it’s the other way around; Dean complaining about an ache in his neck or shoulders or back, and then becoming putty the moment Castiel puts his hands on him. It’s not that Dean’s never done this for him, but Castiel usually doesn’t get backaches, so it’s more been a kind of foreplay for them. 

“This won’t help,” Castiel proclaims even as he does as Dean’s suggested, taking his shirt off and lying down. “I need to move. I feel much better already.”

Dean ignores him. He turns the TV volume down and then Castiel can hear the cap of the massage oil open.

“That oil was expensive. This is just a waste of mmmm —”

Dean has swung a leg over Castiel’s thighs and stroked his warm, oil-slickened hands up Castiel’s sore back. It feels so good, Castiel can’t help the way his eyes close and his muscles relax. 

At some point, he must fall asleep or something close to it, because the next thing he knows Dean is gently wiping the excess oil off his back and shoulders with a towel. The mattress dips as he moves, and then the blanket is being tucked around Castiel again. “I’m not tired,” Castiel says, but his voice comes out more breathy and sleepy than annoyed. 

All the discomfort and stiffness from earlier is gone. It does sound appealing to just keep lying like this and enjoy the feeling of weightlessness.

Dean shuts off the TV that Castiel hadn’t even realized was still on. Then the mattress dips again as Dean lies down, apparently intending to take a nap himself. Castiel means to turn around and thank him for his help, but he has barely formed the thought before he drifts off.

When he becomes aware again, all the contentment from earlier is gone. He feels bleary and cold. Dean isn’t there, and Castiel doesn’t know where he is. The oil doesn’t feel nice on his skin anymore, and to top it all off, he thinks he is hungry.

Just like earlier, Dean seems to magically appear just as Castiel is fighting his way upright and out of bed. What follows is Castiel grumpily letting Dean help him to the sink so Dean can run a soapy washcloth over his back, and then grumpily letting him help with getting dressed again.

A while ago, Dean had started complaining about Castiel's clothes not being comfortable enough for cuddling and had not stopped until Castiel gave in. Now, he owns two pairs of hoodies and sweatpants and a couple of soft t-shirts, and has to admit that they are nice to lounge in. 

Right at this moment though, the sight of the clothes as Dean gets them out of the dresser only serves to irritate him further. 

"I don't want those. They're too warm." 

Not even bothering to point out how Castiel is very visibly shivering, Dean nudges his arms up so he can get the t-shirt and hoodie on him easier. Soon enough, Castiel is dressed and tucked into bed again, and Dean brings him chicken noodle soup. Castiel has no idea when he’s had the time to cook it.

"I don't like soup," he grouses even as he grudgingly starts eating it. Dean ignores that too, turning on the TV and refilling Castiel's water glass at the sink. 

>

The next day is about the same. He’s still stuck in bed and that irritates him to no end. The food is less of a problem at first, because Dean has cooked it and it tastes good and Castiel has missed actually tasting things. But as his grace recovers, things start to taste like molecules again, so in the end the food irritates him as well. 

Dean completely ignores Castiel whining and snapping at him, steadfast in his determination to nurse him back to health. He changes the sheets when Castiel complains about them feeling tacky and runs him a bath when his back starts hurting again. In between caring for him and doing chores, Dean naps on the bed beside him with the TV playing in the background. 

It’s during one of those times that Dean is sleeping beside him while some rerun of a sitcom is playing that Castiel realizes how little they’ve touched over the last two days. 

They have cuddled during the night and sometimes while Dean’s napped, but that has been about it. Now, he watches Dean sleep beside him and observes the bags under his eyes and the way his thick fingers look, loosely gripping the comforter beneath him. 

When he’s feeling better, Castiel vows to make love to Dean as thoroughly and as tenderly as he knows how to. 

After lunch the next day, Castiel is finally allowed to do some work again. There's research to be done for one of the hunters in Sam's network and Castiel relishes having something to do, even if he has to do it while tucked into bed.

The dizziness and the aches are gone, and he doesn't feel a need for nourishment anymore either. The weariness remains though, and that means he still can’t use his grace for anything other than keeping himself up and running. 

He's surrounded by books and busy taking notes when he realizes that it's been hours since Dean left to take the laundry out of the dryer. He tries to tell himself that Dean just got distracted by something else, but when Sam comes to find him a while later, Castiel can already tell from his expression that something is up. 

"What's wrong? Is Dean—"

Sam holds up his hands in a placating manner and offers Castiel a small, sad smile. "He's in the infirmary. Not because it's so bad, he just didn't want you to worry."

Letting his head fall back against the headboard, Castiel closes his eyes as guilt starts to weigh on him. "I should have made him rest more. I know that it gets worse when he's stressed and he hasn't been sleeping well and—"

Sam interrupts him, sitting down on the bed. "Cas. It's not your fault. Dean's been resting. You know there's no way to completely ensure he won't have an episode. They just happen. And when they happen, we deal with it. As a family."  

His tone is sympathetic even though his words are somewhat chastising. Castiel deflates with a sigh. "I know. You're right, but I just—I want to help."

"You are helping, Cas. By staying here and resting and helping with research."

Castiel dreads the answer, but still needs to know, "You said it isn't that bad, but how bad is it?"

Instead of replying right away, Sam hands him a piece of paper. "Rowena came through. We're still trying to get the dosage right so he doesn't build up a tolerance too fast. It's dulling the pain and helping him sleep."

Though the ingredients are simple, the spellwork is intricate. It's obvious that a lot of thought and care went into crafting it, and Castiel makes a mental note to thank Rowena personally. Still—

"I want to see him. I won't try and use my grace, I just want to check on him."

Sam hesitates. "Maybe later, when he's feeling a little better. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think right now, the  two of you are just going to distress each other. Cas—" Sam heads off his impending complaints, "listen. I know it's important to you both to take care of each other. And I'm not saying that's bad. Couples should be caring for each other. But right now, neither of you can take care of the other. So let us help." 

Castiel frowns at him. "I get now why Dean says that it's annoying when you're right," he grumbles, and Sam laughs. He pats the bed and then makes to leave. He's already by the door by the time Castiel manages to—temporarily—swallow his irritation and thank him. 

"Anytime, Cas."

Over the course of the day, everyone comes in to spend some time with him. They all seem to take in stride that he's a little grumpy and maybe a little pouty about being the only one banned from the infirmary. 

Finally, a little after breakfast the next morning, Sam sticks his head in. "He's awake. Wanna go see him?"

Still a little grumpy, Castiel holds himself back from pointing out what a stupid question that is. Sam has been nothing but supportive and patient, and doesn't deserve to be the target of Castiel's ire.

It's been strange and lonely spending the night in their room without Dean. Castiel’s grace has recovered enough that he’s not able to sleep anymore, and the space beside him felt eerily cold and empty. 

In the infirmary, Dean's curled up on his side in the bed furthest from the door. There’s no IV drip and no smell of puke; all good signs. The light has been dimmed but Castiel can still make out how pale and exhausted Dean looks as he shoves up his sleep mask and offers Castiel a weak smile. 

“Hey th-there, hand-d-dso-so-some.”

Sam snorts. “I’ll leave you to it then. Behave.” Dean rolls his eyes and Sam chuckles. Standing at the foot of the bed, he squeezes Dean’s ankle in parting and then leaves. 

Castiel sits down in the chair beside the bed and takes Dean’s hand in both of his as Dean lifts it up to be held.

“How are you feeling?” 

Dean shrugs a little and then grimaces. 

“‘S ok-k-kay. Ma-ma-ma-managable. T-t-turns out m-m-magic a-a-ain’t no ma-a-agic f-f-fix, who’d-d-da th-th-thunk it.” He offers Castiel a wry grin but he’s clearly struggling to speak and the corners of his eyes are pinched with pain.

Upon seeing Castiel’s dismayed expression, Dean starts to shake his head and then stops and winces. “Nope. N-n-no. Your t-t-turn.”

“I’m feeling much better.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at him, but they’re drawing moisture even in the half-dark of the room and it makes him look more upset than suspicious. 

“I really am. But I’m still taking it slow. I’m sorry I was so resistant to your care,” Castiel adds with a huff. 

Dean smiles at him fondly, but it slips when he winces again. He blinks rapidly and then his gaze wanders aimlessly for a moment until it comes back to Castiel. His eyes are out of focus and he frowns, his grip on Castiel’s hand weakening. 

“Dean?” Castiel tries to keep the alarm out of his voice, leaning forward and gripping Dean’s fingers tightly.

“Sor-r-ry.” Dean makes a pained noise. He seems to try and gesture at his head with his free hand but the movement is so uncoordinated he mostly just succeeds in smacking it against the pillow behind him. 

“Sammy sa-sa-says…” Dean trails off, his frown deepening. “Side… ef-f-fects,” he continues at length, his tone uncertain like he’s not only having trouble saying words he’s also struggling to remember them. “From th-the… thing-g-g.” He waves vaguely at the small bottle with swirling turquoise liquid on the nightstand beside him.

On the way to the infirmary, Sam had only told Castiel not to worry if Dean seemed a little in and out. Now, a part of Castiel wants to be irked that Sam wasn’t upfront about what exactly that meant. But Sam means well, he knows that. Sam’s trying to take care of both of them, to keep them from worrying too much.  

“I think you should sleep some more, Dean,” Castiel says, straining to sound calm and keep from Dean how unnerving it is to see him like this. 

Dean’s expression morphs into a pout and then turns into genuine upset. “Dun w-w-wanna. ‘S all da-da-dark. L-l-like with… l-l-like M-M-Michael.”

At the use of the name, Castiel startles. Dean usually avoids saying it.

“Okay,” Castiel agrees, floundering. “Then maybe you could just rest.”

Dean tugs on Castiel’s sleeve and shifts around until Castiel is on the bed with him, sitting back against the headboard. Then he tucks himself into Castiel's side, reaching for his hand again. He seems to want to move it somewhere but is lacking the coordination. 

“Do you want me to stroke your hair?” 

Dean sighs when Castiel starts petting his fingers through the strands. Fumbling for Castiel’s other hand, he starts playing with his fingers. 

His legs covered with the blanket, still in his soft hoodie and all pressed up against Castiel’s side, Dean is so warm. 

Even though it hurts to see him like this, Castiel feels a certain peace wash over him that only Dean has ever been able to bring him. By Dean’s side is the one place in all of creation he feels like he belongs, the place he has chosen to be his home. 

Sinking deeper into the pillows at his back, Castiel starts humming the melody from a song he’s heard on the radio recently. He can’t remember the lyrics and is likely not even getting the melody right, but Dean doesn’t seem to care. He shifts his head until it’s lying directly on Castiel’s chest and then sighs in contentment, enjoying the vibrations under his cheek. 

Dean’s thumb is running back and forth over Castiel’s ring. It’s an endearing action that he knows Dean turns to for comfort sometimes, with both Castiel’s and his own ring. Now, it’s what’s finally making Castiel’s eyes well up, all the emotions of the last couple of days crashing over him. 

He wants to be able to sleep and dream. He wants to taste food, to enjoy it.

But he also wants to keep on being his family’s shield. To protect them in ways only he can. To take away their pain with just a touch. 

The motions of Dean’s fingers are slowing down as he’s falling back asleep. Maybe Dean will be cross with him later, but right now Castiel is glad that Dean is in no position to notice his meltdown. It gives him time to sort through the various emotions, to just feel them for a while until he has to think about how to share them with Dean without causing him guilt in some way. 

Carefully, Castiel moves his fingers out of Dean’s hair and tugs Dean’s sleep mask back over his eyes. Keeping a hold on Dean’s hand, Castiel lets himself lean into his warmth, lets it soothe him. 

>

A day and a half later, Dean’s moved from the infirmary back into their room. Castiel too is at a hundred percent again, or at least as hundred percent as his grace gets these days. Jack’s birthday is tomorrow, and they’re all busy with making preparations while also making sure that Jack won’t suspect anything. It is a surprise party, after all. 

Since the weather is supposed to be dry and sunny, they’ve decided to buy a grill and host a barbecue outside. It was Dean’s idea, and Castiel is doubly relieved that Dean’s feeling better since he’s been looking forward to it so much. 

They’ve just returned from shopping and Sam is helping them stow everything away. “What took you guys so long?” he asks, though he sounds more amused than annoyed. “Dean flirt with Betty again?”

Betty is an elderly woman who has command over the dairy aisle. She has a soft spot for Dean and even more so for Dean and Castiel together. She oooh’ed and aww’d the first time she noticed their matching rings, and always gives them a little extra of whatever they buy.

“He did, but that’s not why it took so long,” Castiel explains gravely. “There was a baby.”

“What?”

“There was a woman with a baby in front of us while we waited in line.” 

“...And?”

“And it w-w-was cute,” Dean chimes in, defensively. “A-a-and grumpy, so we pl-l-layed peek-a-boo.”

“For twenty minutes," Castiel adds, unable to resist the chance to tease Dean a little.

“It was a l-l-long line!”

Sam snorts and Castiel tries to hide his smile, though he’s mostly unsuccessful. Dean had lit up when the baby had smiled at him, and it was deeply endearing to watch them play, to see how happy it made Dean when the baby laughed and squealed in response to his silly faces. 

It’s Castiel’s turn to distract Jack now, and to keep him away from the kitchen while Sam, Eileen, and Dean prepare the food for tomorrow. They’ve invited Mary and Bobby, and Jody and Donna and the girls. Everyone promised to bring food as well, but Castiel had still felt like they were buying half the store earlier. 

Jack appears oblivious to all of it, happy to assist them with whatever task they bring to him. He’s chatting away while he helps Castiel organize shelves in the storage, and Castiel catches himself just watching him, feeling like he’s bursting at the seams with pride. 

Jack is growing so much every day, and this year they will get to celebrate it too. 

“Do you think Dean might let us watch Treasure Planet tomorrow night? I know we’ve watched it before, but not everyone together. And I think I’d like to watch it again.”

Castiel has to suppress an amused smile. 

“I’m sure he will, if you ask him.”

Jack lights up. 

“The space scenes are so cool. There’s this one with a supernova that becomes a black hole, and…”

He starts to ramble excitedly about the movie, and Castiel feels warmed all the way through by the joy in his eyes.

>

Later, when he goes to retrieve a lore book he left there, Castiel finds Dean in their room. He’s bent over his desk with a deep frown on his face, looking frustrated. Surrounding him are balled-up papers. 

When Castiel enters, he looks up briefly and then away, mouth turned down unhappily. 

“What’s wrong?”

Walking up to look over Dean’s shoulder, Castiel sees a notebook page where, in big block letters, it says “FOR YOUR SWIM LESSONS.” Dean has a pen in hand and appears to be trying to copy the letters onto a card. He seems to have gotten stuck right on the first letter : his ‘F’ backwards and wobbly and full of extra strokes. Castiel doubts he’d have recognized it if he didn’t know what Dean was trying to write. 

“Can’t g-g-get it right. ‘S l-l-like I’m tryna write fucking K-K-Klingon upside down with a broken ha-ha-hand.” Angrily, he shoves some of the balled-up papers away, and they roll off the table and fall to the floor. There’s tension all the way down his back and his eyes are red and glassy.

“Should-d-d just use Sam’s.” Dean scowls at the notebook page with the neatly written block letters. “Least it don’t look l-l-like some k-k-kinderga-ga-gartner wrote it.” 

They’ve been trying, on and off, to help Dean be at least able to read and write his own name again, but they haven’t had much success. It mostly results in frustration and headaches on Dean’s part, and him storming off at some point to hide his pain from them. It’s a stark contrast to how he acts about his stutter, which rarely seems to distress or concern him.

Watching Dean now, Castiel feels a responding ache in himself, as he always does when Dean is hurting in some way. But there is fondness there as well at seeing Dean trying so hard to do this for Jack. 

Rubbing a hand down Dean’s arm, Castiel presses a kiss into his hair. “Or,” he offers, dragging the other chair close to sit down beside Dean, “You could let me help you.” 

Dean sniffs and turns his face away, rapidly blinking his eyes as if to try and get rid of the moisture there. 

“‘S just a w-w-waste of time, I can’t d-d-do it.”

“You can’t do it like you used to, that’s true. But you can do it with help. It’s just different.”

Dean’s quiet, his face still turned away. Then, the tension goes out of him and he nods. 

Scooting his chair closer, Castiel wraps his left arm around Dean’s back and puts his right hand over Dean’s. Dean swaps his last try out with another blank card. 

“Do you want some of the letters to be lowercase? It will look more like your handwriting.”

“‘Kay.”

Dean sounds defeated, and it hurts to hear. More encouragement would only lead him to bristle though, so Castiel forces himself to focus on the task before them.

Slowly, they work their way through each individual letter. It’s obvious that whatever Dean’s brain is showing him has little to do with what’s on the page he’s trying to copy from, and Castiel has to gently and patiently course correct his hand on every single stroke, guide him into where to move the pen and when to stop. Dutifully, he pretends not to notice the frustrated tears that drip onto the desk. 

Comfort won’t be welcomed right now, he knows. They need to see this through first. 

Castiel helps Dean write his name at the bottom, and then they’re done. The end result is still quite wobbly, with the letters much bigger than Dean used to write them, but it’s readable. 

Carefully, Castiel sets the finished card on top of Dean’s present for Jack—swim trunks, with sharks on them of course, already wrapped in simple navy blue wrapping paper. 

Dean doesn’t look at it. He’s leaning on the desk with a hand over his eyes, every line of his body showing his exhaustion. 

Castiel reaches out and rubs his back. 

“Do you want to go lie down for a bit?”

Wordlessly, Dean nods. After kicking off his boots, he settles down on the bed on his side, an arm thrown over his face. 

Castiel dims the light, sheds his trenchcoat and blazer and his shoes, and lies down with him. He tugs the comforter over their legs and then strokes a hand down Dean’s arm that’s hiding his face. 

Dean only curls himself up tighter in response, and Castiel understands that this is one of those times when it’s important to let Dean hide himself, when everything that could be said would only overwhelm and anger him.

Carefully, Castiel wraps himself around Dean from behind, tangling their legs together and putting a hand on his chest. Dean’s t-shirt beneath his flannel is soft and warm from his body heat, and beneath, Castiel can feel the beat of his heart. Dean doesn’t move his arm away but he goes pliant and leans into where they’re touching all the way down their bodies. His heart rate changes from stressed to relaxed, and his breath slows and deepens.

Letting his thoughts wander, Castiel muses that if there are any truly holy things in the world, feeling the love of your life fall asleep in your arms must be one of them. 

>

Dean’s still quiet when he wakes about an hour later, but he turns around and hugs Castiel, squeezing tight for a moment. He doesn’t need to use his words for Castiel to understand he’s thanking him. Dean sticks close after they leave the room too, preparing them both coffee and sitting beside Castiel so that their shoulders bump. 

Eileen and Dean squabble lightheartedly about who will cook dinner.

“Me and Sam can do it. You look tired.”

“Nah. Sam doesn’t know what a-a-al dente means.” 

Dean’s speaking slower on top of enunciating extra carefully, his breathing carefully measured so he doesn’t run out of breath towards the end of his sentences. It reigns in his stutter somewhat, and gives Eileen a chance to read his lips despite the remaining disfluency. 

Some of his acquired inability to assign meaning to letters seems to extend to signs formed with hands, and so Dean’s been having a hard time with ASL. It does work better than his attempts with reading and writing, but he will probably never be fluent. Dean mostly learns while leaned back against Castiel’s chest with Castiel moving Dean’s hands, but they always have to stop after just two or three simple sentences. 

Exhaustion and headaches are two things Dean does not need any more of in his life, but he still stubbornly keeps on asking Castiel to help him practice.

“I did not hear you complain about the curry chicken,” Sam chimes in triumphantly, signing while he speaks.

“Yeah, c-c-cause I ate that in m-m-my room.”

Sam rolls his eyes and Eileen hides a smile behind her hand.

“We can cook together,” she offers Dean. “Split the work.” 

“I’d like to help too,” Jack says, closing the book he’s been reading and setting it aside.

Dean pretends to be grumpy, but only minutes later he’s joking around with Eileen and patiently guiding Jack through the prep work for the meatballs.

When they’ve sat down to eat, Jack asks after Treasure Planet . 

“Sure, kiddo,” Dean says, gruffly, head ducked over his plate and shoveling pasta into his mouth. Jack beams. 

Eileen, Dean, and Jack go to play Uno in the library after dinner, while Sam and Castiel take care of the dishes. 

“You both okay?” Sam asks, elbow deep in suds. 

Castiel accepts the plate Sam hands him, drying it carefully. 

“I think so. I helped Dean with his card earlier.”

Sam lights up. “Oh yeah? That’s great. He wouldn’t let me.” He hands Castiel the next plate. “And how about you? Looking forward to tomorrow?"

"I am. I…" Absently drying the plate, Castiel lets his gaze wander over the kitchen and all the signs of domesticity there. 

There's Jack's book, Eileen's phone charger, Castiel's trenchcoat that he'd taken off earlier. Dean's C-Pen that really he should be keeping in their room so he doesn't have to go looking for it all the time. A half-empty bag of hot & spicy cheez-its that Eileen and Dean shared earlier, and a newspaper Sam had been reading. 

"I like to think that Kelly would be happy. Proud. Jack had such a rough start to life and when I was back from the Empty, I realized I had no idea how to raise him, how to make it better. But now..." He trails off, unable to find words for what he's feeling. 

Sam unplugs the drain and washes the soap off his hands, then looks at Castiel with soft eyes, leaning against the sink. "It's better than you hoped for?"

Humming in reply, Castiel thinks about how to explain. 

"When we were at a diner a while ago during a case," he starts at length, "Jack asked to have chocolate cake for dessert. And I was going to say no, because he's not supposed to eat so many sweets. But then Dean wanted a piece too, and when they both look at me like that…"

Sam snorts and then chuckles. "Cas, they got you wrapped around their fingers."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "I realize that, thank you." Despite himself, he has to smile. "They were so happy. And I looked at the both of them and I just…" His voice starts to waver and his eyes feel hot. "I didn't know I could feel so much love."

Sam pats his back, broad palm rubbing gently. "Think I know what that's like," he says. "I'm really happy for you."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean sticks his head into the kitchen.

"The hell's ta-ta-taking you guys so l-l-long?"

He looks at Castiel and frowns.

"What's wrong?" He enters the kitchen and hovers beside Castiel, looking suspiciously between him and Sam like he thinks Sam did something to upset him. 

"Calm down, mother hen," Sam teases, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We were just talking." 

Dean bristles, and Castiel rubs a soothing hand down his arm.

"It's alright, Dean." To Sam, "Can you give us a moment?"

Dean glares after Sam until he's out the door, then turns worried eyes on Castiel. 

"What's w-w-wrong, Cas?"

Stroking down his arm, Castiel finds his hand and squeezes reassuringly. 

"We were just talking, and I got sentimental. It's fine."

A frown forms on Dean's face. "Sentim-m-mental?" he repeats. His expression is guarded but some fear bleeds through.  

"Not about the past," Castiel rushes to explain. "Not in the way you think. We were just… talking about happiness." Shifting his grip on Dean's hand, Castiel laces their fingers together. Rubs his thumb over Dean's ring. "About love."

Dean searches his eyes, his own big and vulnerable. At least some of what Castiel is feeling must translate through the way he’s looking at Dean, because a flush appears on Dean’s cheeks. Shifting his stance, Dean turns his face away, blinking rapidly. 

“You’re a che-e-esebal-l-l,” he complains weakly.

“Since when is it cheesy for me to say that I adore you?” Castiel teases him gently, something about Dean being shy like this drawing out his playful side. 

“Since a-a-alw-w-ways.” If anything, Dean has flushed deeper. 

“I see.” Deciding to take mercy, Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand once more and then lets go and starts moving towards the exit. “Come on, I think the others are waiting for us.” 

“Cas...” Dean stops him with a hand on his arm, and then ducks down so quickly Castiel doesn’t fully realize what’s happening before Dean’s kissing him. It’s more of a peck, over so quickly that Castiel has no chance to reciprocate. Dean also mostly misses his mouth, and he ducks away immediately after, walking out with his shoulders up at his very red ears. 

>

They play cards for the rest of the evening, until Castiel notices that Dean’s becoming more and more quiet. To give him an out, Castiel announces that when the current round is over he wants to go read his book. 

Dean goes through his nighttime routine and when he’s lying down in bed, he tugs at Castiel’s sleeve. Shedding most of his layers, Castiel slides down beside Dean under the covers. He finds Dean's hand, stroking over his knuckles until he's asleep. 

For a while, Castiel tries to go back to his book but he finds he can't concentrate. Not for the first time, he longs to follow Dean into sleep, to just rest and not have to think for a while. 

Old guilt tries to rise at the thought; the angels streaking through the night sky like falling stars, crying and screaming and dying. 

Castiel examines the guilt for a moment, and then lets it go. It's in the past, he's tried to atone, and he was different then. 

To course-correct his thoughts, Castiel picks up his present for Jack that he hasn't wrapped yet. It's a photo album in plain forest green, Jack's name written on the cover in black cursive. 

There's only a handful of photos inside yet—a copy of the one photo Jack has of Kelly, and a few snapshots Castiel has taken more or less unnoticed by the others. Dean and Jack eating chocolate cake in that diner, Sam and Jack and Eileen playing a video game. A shaky selfie Jack and Castiel took in the backseat of the Impala. 

It's not much, but Castiel hopes that it's just the beginning. That Jack will be encouraged to take photos on his own, to decide for himself which moments he wants to capture. 

Castiel looks at the photos for a long time, and then quietly and carefully wraps the album in the wrapping paper Dean had used. 

When he’s done, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Sam recommended him a meditation app but he’s found it isn’t for him. He doesn’t feel like reading or watching or listening to anything. 

Shutting off the bedside lamp, Castiel lies down on his back and stares at the dark ceiling. He tries not to think about anything, but it feels like he ends up thinking about everything instead. 

That moment when he realized the curse on the object they’d been looking for was stronger than he thought, and Dean's frantic hands on him before everything went black. Jack's smile when he told him about the movie he wanted to watch. How Castiel feels so many things, and he sometimes still doesn't understand them. 

"Cas?"

"I'm here. Did I wake you?"

There's the sound of skin shifting on fabric as Dean shakes his head. 

"W-w-woke up l-l-like an hour ago."

"Oh." He usually notices. "You can't go back to sleep?"

Instead of replying, Dean finds his hand and tugs on it. 

"Go outside?"

"...It's still dark."

Dean sounds like he's smiling when he asks, "Af-f-fraid of a little da-da-dark, Cas?"

"I'm not afraid," Castiel replies grumpily. He turns on the light and demonstratively gets dressed. Dean does too, and he also grabs a wool blanket on his way out the door. 

Outside the bunker, there's the barest hint of light at the horizon. Morning dew is clinging to the grass, and a few birds are making noise already. 

Dean walks past the fireplace they've built and to the top of the hill where a fallen tree is serving as a makeshift bench. When they've sat down, Dean throws the blanket over both their backs. 

The silvery hint of light at the horizon is turning to molten gold. Above them, the sky is still a dark blue, a handful of stars visible. Beside him, Dean shivers. 

"Are you cold?"

Castiel holds up his arm and Dean tucks into his side, head resting on his shoulder. When he drapes the blanket back over them, the edges of it swish over the prairie roses that are blooming on the hilltop, scattering a few petals at their feet.

Birdsong rises with the rays of the sun. A gentle breeze goes through the tall grasses, and Castiel shifts closer to Dean, keeping him warm. It's only now that he realizes that whatever was rattled and uncertain inside him has settled and is reassured. 

Dean reaches for his hand. 

The sun is rising.

>

It’s still early when they go back inside. They’re quiet, but their shoulders bump as they walk side by side and their fingers tangle, drawn back to each other. 

Sam and Eileen have just started decorating the kitchen. When they enter, Sam looks up in alarm but quickly relaxes when he sees it’s not Jack. 

The banner that spells Happy Birthday is already hung up over the table, and Eileen is retrieving the cake they'd baked from the fridge. They'd hid it at the very back, behind Sam's extra healthy smoothies (that, to Dean's delight and Sam's dismay, Jack finds just as disgusting as Dean, though he is more polite about it).

After arranging the presents next to the cake, Castiel carefully lights the three candles on it. He hopes they got everything right, as he doesn't have much experience with birthdays. They'd celebrated Sam’s and Dean's this year, but Dean had been adamant that they wouldn't make too much of a fuss about his, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. 

Breakfast is just about ready by the time Jack rounds the corner to the kitchen. He gets halfway through a good morning before he jolts to a halt, his smile slipping. He takes in the decorations and the cake and his eyes well up. 

Castiel steps up to him and draws him into a hug, rubs his back. “Happy Birthday, Jack.” His own eyes feel hot but he’s smiling, overcome with joy. Jack clings to him for a moment before letting go and searching his eyes. 

“This is… for me?” He can’t seem to believe it. 

The others have hung back, giving them a moment to themselves. Now, Sam’s there, wrapping an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Of course, Jack. It’s your birthday.”

Jack looks up at them, his voice watery and uncertain. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“Could-d-d start with bl-l-lowin’ out those ca-ca-candles before they melt the cake,” Dean suggests from somewhere behind them, gruffly. It surprises a laugh out of Jack, and brings the smile back to his face.

“When you blow them out,” Eileen says as Jack sits down, “close your eyes and make a wish. Sometimes, they come true.” She winks at him. 

Very solemnly, Jack does as she’s suggested. 

“Please eat something healthy before you have cake,” Castiel tells him, accepting a plate from Dean that’s piled with scrambled eggs and toast, and setting it in front of Jack. He’s sat down beside him, Sam and Eileen opposite them. Dean has swivelled one of the seats around so he can sit at the end of the table between the four of them. He’s too far away for Castiel to put a hand on his knee to keep in contact, but then the problem is solved by Dean’s foot bumping into his. 

When Jack opens Castiel's present, he's quiet for a long moment, fingers stroking reverently over the photos. Sam and Eileen got him a hunter's journal and a new Zelda game. When Jack opens Dean's present and reads the card, his brow furrows with confusion. 

"What swim lessons?"

Dean's sipping on his coffee without looking up, seeming to try and hide behind his mug. 

"Yours, du-du-dummy. You 'n me."

Jack had mentioned wanting to learn when they got the pool running again, but then something else came up and they all forgot about it. Dean worried that lessons as a present would be dumb, but looking at Jack now, Castiel knows he made the right choice. 

Jack only hesitates a moment before throwing his arms around Dean's neck, holding tight. 

"Thank you," he mumbles into Dean's shoulder, voice watery, and Castiel can see the moment Dean allows himself to soften, to hug back. 

"Sure, kiddo."

Watching them openly, Castiel is filled with joy for both of them. It must show on his face, because when Jack has returned to his seat and Dean catches Castiel's eyes, he instantly blushes. Turning away quickly, Dean coughs and then stands abruptly, gathering the plates and cutlery and making a beeline for the sink. 

"Wanna try out your new game?" Sam asks Jack, probably sensing that Dean needs a moment. Jack lights up.

"Yes! Are you coming too, Cas?"

Castiel wants to say yes, but he also doesn't want Dean to stay here alone. But then Eileen solves the problem for him, announcing, "You go ahead, I'll help with cleanup."

Turning around once more before leaving the kitchen, Castiel sees her lean in and say something to Dean. Dean signs something back one-handedly that Castiel can't quite see from the angle he's looking. Whatever it was makes Eileen laugh and shove lightly at Dean's shoulder. Dean pretends to be annoyed but Castiel can see him trying to hide a smile. 

Eileen and Dean have developed not only an important friendship, but also, in the face of their communication barriers, somewhat of a language of their own. It's not the first time Castiel has noticed this, but he's maybe a little emotional today and the sight of Dean happy always does things to him.

"Dude," Sam says with a laugh when Castiel finds them in the Dean Cave playing Zelda, "you're like, glowing. You look drugged. You sure there wasn't a little something extra in your coffee?"

Castiel rolls his eyes but he can't suppress his smile for long. It feels permanent at this point. 

"Can't I just be having a very good day?"

Sam chuckles, but then he softens, patting Castiel on the back. 

"Of course, Cas. It is a good day."

They're occupied with the game until it's time for lunch. After, Dean throws his Baby’s keys to Jack, who is so surprised he barely catches them.

"Fishin' trip. You're d-d-driving."

"I am?" Jack looks overjoyed, if a little disbelieving, like it's too good to be true.

"Sure y'are. C'mon, short-st-t-top."

His smile widening, Jack follows after Dean in a way that reminds Castiel of a little duckling hurrying after its mom. Between their last case, Castiel needing care and then Dean needing care, Jack hasn't had much opportunity for one-on-one time with Dean.

That, and Jack loves to drive. The first time Dean had shown him how and they went fishing after, Jack had told Castiel that it had been 'the best day ever'.

With Jack away from the bunker for the next couple of hours, they get to work outside. After the grill and the garden chairs and tables have been carried outside, Castiel leaves it to Sam and Eileen to hang up colorful lampions in the trees. 

Every time Sam stretches up to reach one of the higher branches, Eileen sneaks up on him to tickle him while Sam tries to twist away, or pretends to, both of them laughing like children. Eileen brings out a playful, tender side of Sam that Castiel had never seen before. Dean must see it too, because he teases Sam way less than Castiel would have expected, and gives the two of them a lot of space. 

Mary and Bobby arrive only a little earlier than Jody and Donna and the girls. When Castiel goes to greet her, Claire hugs him and then teases him that he's gotten even dorkier in her absence. 

Shortly after, there's the sound of the Impala rumbling her way up the hill. When Jack emerges from the driver's side to the sounds of cheers from their guests, he freezes, looking completely overwhelmed again. 

Castiel starts to make his way over to him but then Dean is there;  wrapping an arm protectively around Jack's back. He's holding the green cooler—they must have caught some fish—and ducks down to ask Jack something. When Jack nods, Dean straightens and starts walking them to the bunker's entrance, Jack almost hiding against him the entire way. 

"Be right back, gotta ge-ge-get these into th-the f-f-freezer!" Dean hollers at no one in particular. 

Castiel contemplates following them, but then he thinks that Dean has had the right instinct with reducing the level of attention. 

Claire and the girls are playing music from their phones and have started a game of frisbee. When Dean and Jack reemerge, Dean gently pushes him towards them. Jack's eyes look a little red, but everyone pretends not to notice, and he's roped into the game and laughing in no time. 

Dean walks over to the grill that Sam's just gotten started and shoulders him out of the way, snatching up the apron. "Step as-s-side, Sammy, the Meat Man's i-i-in in the house now."

"Dude, how many more times—it doesn't mean what you think it means."

Castiel had meant to check in on Dean, but he seems fine right now, and intent on squabbling with his brother. The tables are all set, so he chooses a seat strategically, wanting to be able to keep everyone in his sight. 

Dean would probably tell him that he's acting like 'overcompensation city,' but securing a perimeter is just second nature by now. Or so he tells himself. Rationally, he knows that they're all far from helpless, but Castiel just wants them all to be safe, especially today. 

"It's great to see, isn't it?" Castiel had been so lost in thought, he didn't notice Mary sitting down next to him. 

"The kids," Mary explains when she notices his confusion, a soft smile on her face. "That they can have more good days than bad, now. That's a victory right there."

Castiel follows her gaze to where the frisbee game is still going strong. Jack has grass stains on his knees and Claire and Kaia are standing closer together than everyone else, exchanging shy glances and smiles. 

"It is."

He gets roped into conversation for a while, especially when Jack and the girls come over and everyone starts in on the food. It’s nice—Jack has lost his shyness and there is a lot of laughter all around—but finally, Castiel grabs two beers and wanders over to the grill.

Sam’s standing next to Dean, a plate piled with ribs in his hands, the two of them ribbing each other as usual. 

Cas holds out the beer to Dean and he lights up.

“Man a-a-after my own heart.”

Sam snorts.

Dean grins at Castiel wolfishly, a twinkle in his eyes, and fondles the meat on the grill with the barbeque tongs. “Come to help me ha-ha-handle my huge s-s-sausage, Cas?”

Sam chokes.

“Ew, fuck you, I’m leaving—”

Sam stomps off and Dean wheezes with laughter, stupidly happy over his silly joke. 

"That was a little rude," Castiel says, though he can't help his smile.

"Eh, you l-l-love it," Dean says offhandedly, flipping a burger patty. 

Instead of matching his playful tone, Castiel lets his voice carry the affection he's feeling.

"...I do."

Dean's eyes widen and his cheeks blush. He looks lovely.

"Aww," Donna is saying, having walked up behind them without either of them noticing. "Young love." She puts a hand on her chest and sighs. 

Dean blushes deeper. 

"I'm older than all of you combined," Castiel points out. 

Donna waves off his protest. "Young in spirit, then. Got any more ribs, Dean-o?"

>

Jody finally succeeds in bullying Dean into letting her take over at the grill. Dean complains about it right up until he has a full plate in front of him, and then he doesn't seem to have any interest in anything except feeding himself. 

"Can't ta-ta-ta-talk," he says with his mouth full and without looking up, "st-t-tuffin' my face."

The others get the hint, and conversation moves on around them. A hand on Dean's lower back under his shirt, Castiel is content to lean back in his chair and enjoy the lively atmosphere. Yes, it's chaotic and loud, but also genuine and full of laughter. 

He'd never really thought about it before, but it's deeply relaxing and freeing to be surrounded by people who, as Dean would say it, get it; get the life they're living and its unique circumstances and challenges. 

By the time it's getting dark and the LEDs in the lampions have turned themselves on, the kids have retreated inside, presumably to play video games. Dean grumbles something about them at least taking their 'awful excuse for music' with them, and frowns at the half-empty Margiekugel in front of him, the label all but picked off. 

If they didn't have guests, Castiel is sure that Dean would long since have made himself at home with his head on Castiel's shoulder, snoring directly into his ear. 

As it is, Castiel is debating how to give Dean the out he seems to think he needs, when Dean abruptly gets up and stutters out something vague at no one in particular about checking that the kids aren't trashing his Cave. 

The others seem to buy it, teasing Dean lightheartedly about being a grump, though Sam meets Castiel's eyes and nods once in understanding. 

Castiel means to go check on Dean in a bit, but gets swept up in conversation. Suddenly, an hour has passed and everyone's getting ready to leave as they still have to drive home and it's a work day tomorrow, at least for some. 

They'd already brought most of the dishes down earlier to free up the tables, so now it's mostly bottles that need to be brought in for recycling. Castiel had hoped that Dean was allowing himself the rest he was clearly in need of, but instead he finds him at the kitchen sink, scrubbing away. 

Sighing, Castiel gets rid of the bottles and then walks up to him, putting a hand on his back.

"Dean…"

A deep frown on his face, Dean's scrubbing the grill grate. The skin of his hands looks red and raw, his fingers are visibly trembling, and he blinks every few seconds like it's getting hard to focus on what he's doing. 

"St-t-tupid piece 'a crap won't g-g-get c-c-clean."

Castiel thinks the grate looks quite finished already, but Dean sounds deeply unhappy and frustrated. He's stopped scrubbing and is blinking at the dirty water in the sink like he's not quite sure anymore what he's even doing. 

Taking charge, Castiel gently lifts Dean's hands out of the suds and cleans them off, putting the grate and the sponge aside. 

"You've done enough, Dean. Go hug your mother goodbye and then get ready for bed."

Dean shakes his head as if trying to clear away his exhaustion induced confusion. 

"No, I g-g-gotta..." He trails off, his gaze wandering. 

Castiel gently squeezes his hands. "Bear," he says, and the nickname is what finally gets through to Dean; his frantic, distracted demeanor making way for a soft bashfulness. "Get ready for sleep. I'll be there."

He can see the war in Dean wage on for another moment, but then Dean nods, sagging. Castiel gives him a gentle push towards the door, and then goes to help carry the fold-up chairs and tables back inside. 

After they've said goodbye to everyone, Jack announces that he'd rather watch Treasure Planet tomorrow. "I like it best when we all watch together. And I'm tired anyway."

When Jack's brushed his teeth and gotten into bed, Castiel sits down at the edge of the mattress. 

"Did you have a good birthday? If we went overboard, you can tell us."

Jack is smiling widely even though he does look tired. 

"No, I did. It's really great when everyone is here. With Jody and Donna and the girls, I feel a little like I have four sisters and two aunts." His smile fades and Castiel leans closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

"What's wrong?"

"Is… Is it selfish that I still wished my Mom was here?" His voice is watery and his eyes are glassy, looking at Castiel almost pleadingly. 

"Of course not, Jack."

Jack's expression crumbles, and Castiel draws him in to hug him, rubbing his back and swaying them gently from side to side. It's what he's learned to do to comfort Dean, and it works with Jack too. Soon enough, the boy leans back and wipes his eyes and nose on his sleeve. 

"I know you're not supposed to tell, but I think if I tell only you it'll be okay. When I blew out the candles on my cake to make a wish, I thought really hard that I wished for—for this. For more days like today, where we can just all spend time together and have fun and no bad things happen." He huffs a breath of laughter. "Dean would say it's really corny, but I don't care."

"He probably would, but I think, silently, he'd agree. He just doesn't like it when people know he's a… softie," Castiel says, trying out the term and making Jack laugh. 

They talk for a few more minutes, but then Jack starts to yawn. “Alright,” Castiel says, patting the bed and getting up. “Bedtime. Sleep well.”

>

He expected Dean to already have fallen asleep, but instead Dean’s lying awake and looking up at him tiredly when he opens the door. One of the lamps on the nightstand is still on, and Dean looks all kinds of soft and inviting in the warm glow. 

Changing into one of the t-shirts and sleep pants Dean insisted are needed for cuddling purposes, Castiel slides in under the blanket next to him. Dean sighs and reaches for his hand. The trembling has lessened but Castiel can still feel it. 

“Kid ok-k-kay?”

“He is. He just… misses his mother.”

Sadness clouds Dean’s eyes for a moment but then the look in them sharpens again.

“ You ok-k-kay?” He’s so obviously overtired, yet stubbornly determined to take care of everyone. Overcome with affection, Castiel frames Dean’s face in his hands, strokes his thumbs over Dean’s cheeks.

“I am. I’m very—” He leans over and kisses Dean’s forehead. “Very happy, and very grateful.”

“‘S-s-sap,” Dean complains weakly, though he’s smiling. He tries to shove at Castiel, but unfortunately—or fortunately—for him, that only results in Castiel remembering the raw and sore state of Dean’s hands. 

“We need to tend to those,” Castiel decides, inspecting them. He sits up and rummages around until he finds the cream he’s looking for. If Dean’s still insisting that Castiel not use his grace yet, this will have to do. “This might sting a bit.”

Dean rolls his eyes and yet hisses when Castiel starts to gently apply the cream. “It’ll m-m-mess up th-th-the sheets,” he complains, but then falls silent and watches Castiel work, his eyes starting to glaze over a bit. 

“Cas?” he asks when they’re done, holding his hands up per Castiel’s instruction so the cream won’t be rubbed off again right away. He sounds so small, and when Castiel looks down at him from where he’s sitting, all of Dean’s protective walls are stripped away and what’s left is a tired, emotional, and vulnerable man. It's a side of him Castiel really only gets to see when they're in private, when it's just the two of them.

“’M sc-c-cared.” 

“Of what?” Castiel asks, trying to coax him gently into answering.

Dean sniffs and takes a moment to reply. 

“‘S a-a-all goin’ s-s-so well. Th-that’s usual-l-ly when stuff st-t-tarts goin’ w-w-wrong f-f-for us. A-a-and I can’t—I c-c-can’t.”

“Oh Dean…” It hurts deeply to hear him sound like that, and Castiel immediately wants to fix it, to have Dean never feel like this again from now on.

Dean sniffs again and then chuckles weakly, though Castiel can see his chin wobbling.

“Shit, don’t l-l-listen to me, ‘s the w-w-wrong da-da-day to be moro-o-ose.” 

Reaching out, Castiel cups Dean's face in one hand. 

“I can’t promise that nothing will go wrong. But I promise you that you won’t be alone. Okay?”

Dean manages a nod, and Castiel leans down and kisses him. Like he didn’t even know himself how much he’s been needing this, Dean sucks in a breath through his nose and leans up into the intimate touch, eyes fluttering shut. 

One kiss turns into the next, and the next, Dean slowly melting into relaxation beneath him. There’s nothing but the sounds of their breaths and their mouths and the shifting of fabric on skin as they adjust their position slightly. The calming scent of chamomile from the cream wafts up as Dean rests his still upheld hands on Castiel’s arms.

Dean’s falling asleep, Castiel can tell. Tenderly, he keeps loving on him—kissing his mouth and his cheeks and stroking his hair—until Dean’s breathing has deepened with sleep. 

Carefully, Castiel lies down next to him, choosing to leave the lamp on for now. He tucks the blanket over Dean and curls his fingers around his wrist where it’s resting beside his head. 

Maybe tomorrow, they can carve out some one-on-one time for themselves. Go for a drive, take a bath together. A day of very little talking, and a lot of touch. 

As he lies there, the thought sneaks up on him again that he misses sleeping. On the other hand, being able to sleep means needing sleep, and that means nightmares and insomnia, he knows. It means being unaware, and unable to watch over anyone else. 

Irritated with himself for letting his thoughts wander in that direction again, Castiel reaches over and grabs his phone. He knows he should talk about this with Dean, but—not yet. They’ve just had a very eventful couple of days, and he wasn't lying about being grateful for and happy with the life he's living right now.

He always urges Dean to focus on and find joy in the things he can do, and not the ones he can't. Maybe he should take his own advice.

Eileen has sent him an invitation for a round of Words With Friends. He'd thought she and Sam had gone to bed as well, but then again it is still quite early. He and Dean are usually the first ones to turn in, as Dean is the one who needs the most sleep out of all of them. 

The bed creaks a little underneath Castiel when he turns over onto his stomach so he can type and look at the screen more comfortably. Dean makes a soft noise in his sleep, shifting a little. 

Dean’s fingers curl into the fabric of Castiel's shirt, and his warmth is Castiel's anchor through the night and long past dawn.