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He’s been coming here ever since they’ve moved into their own house, a few miles up the road, what feels like forever ago already but was actually just a couple of years ago. It’s quiet and it reminds him of another time, of Heaven and the righteous path, of a time when looking down at humanity to watch it all unfold was pretty much all he had to do.
Castiel always loved watching the Earth; loved following the salmons' path through a river, follow along the journey of the bees, watching wildlife expand. It’s probably why he likes this place so much.
He sits in silence, letting his eyes follow the trails of water before they crash onto the pool underneath, letting the dull and sullen roar of the cascade ground him. He knows he should probably head back soon, but doesn’t find it in him to move. He still needs time to think, to process, to quiet down alone.
It’s a nice late afternoon, not too chilly for this last Sunday of October, but chilly enough so that he has to put on the hood of his sweat-shirt, his untamable raven hair still sticking out of the soft blue fabric. The trees’ colors had started to change a few weeks back, autumn invading the leafs, turning them from bright green and fading brown to crimson and auburn, painting the summer into fall.
Maybe it’s the soft ruffles of the leaves on the floor that gives him away, or maybe it’s somehow a remainder of what was once an angelic disposition, but either way, he knows Dean is here before he makes a single move to announce his presence.
He’s been unconsciously waiting for him to show, he realizes as he lets his husband seat beside him, waiting for him to talk. When he does, it’s with a broken voice that shatters the tiny bit of conviction he still had.
“Been looking for you.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t move to look at him, pretty certain that if he does, he won’t be able to say what he’s been crafting for hours in the quiet of this little cocoon, away from the pain and despair that his fight with Dean brought. Their disputes are always heart-wrenching, as painful as knives being thrown. Cas has figured out a long time ago that it hurts that much because they love each other so much, which doesn't mean it's currently comforting enough for him to throw this under a rug.
The hunter doesn’t reach out, which tells Cas he’s either still angry or unable to figure out what state Cas is in. After a few minutes, the once-upon-an-angel finally breaks the silence filling the space between them.
“I know what you did was to protect me.”
“It was, babe, I —“
“Please, Dean, let me say this,” Cas interrupts, unable to keep away from Dean’s face and finally meeting his eyes, already diving deep into the emeralds he loves so much he could kill for, “Your intention was to protect me, which implies that I can’t take care of myself, which implies a lack of faith in me, which implies a lack of respect.”
“You know that’s not true,” Dean argues, and Castiel can see the look of despair on his face, the way his eyes go wild with terror, “I have complete faith in you.”
“Then you have a curious way of showing it.”
“How the hell can you say that after all we’ve been through together, Cas?”
Castiel stays silent for a while, committing every line of Dean’s face to memory. The way his eyes crinkle at the corner, or how his lips always seem like they’re calling for a kiss. The trace of a hickey he bit into the cut of his jaw just last night, when they made love after they came back from the beach. The scar on his chin that he got right after Cas lost his angel powers, the first one he was unable to heal, but made a point of kissing every single night until eventually, all that was left was a faded white mark.
God, he loves him so much that sometimes the line between love and pain becomes really fucking thin.
Love is a beautiful thing but it’s also terrifying, and loving Dean is both mind-blowing and scary at all times. It’s a journey they’ve been on together for several years now, a path they’ve carved for themselves as they made their way through laughter and doubts and anger and hope. It’s not always easy, but Cas thinks maybe that’s what makes them real, and present, and alive.
“I love you,” Dean says, his voice weak, tearing Cas away from where he got lost.
“I know you do, and I do too. But it can’t be an excuse to hurt each other anymore. It’s not a magic card you get to wave as a free pass every time you do something shitty to me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Again, not an excuse.”
“Okay, Cas, look at me. I’m trying here, okay?” Dean gestures wildly, and Cas can hear the wobble inside his voice, can see through the cracks that he’s minutes away from breaking down, “I know I’m a dick, and I know I’m the worst at doing things the right way, but I really did this because I thought I was protecting you. And yeah I realize now that it was a shitty move and I get that I hurt you in the process, and I really am sorry, baby. But I am trying, and somehow it seems like I keep failing and hurting you, and I don’t know how to do this anymore!”
There’s a tear rolling down on his cheek, a break inside the green of his eyes, and Castiel can’t take it anymore — he reaches out, draws his husband closer, and burrows his head into the crook of his neck where it smells safe and just like home. Mint, leather, a hint of whisky. Dean, all Dean, and wholeheartedly Dean. He sinks into the scent, breathing deeply, can feel Dean’s arms enveloping him into his familiar embrace.
Castiel’s arms wrap around him, and he can feel his husband melt little by little, can feel his hands swipe over the fabric of his hoodie, relish the warmth that wraps around them both as they finally breathe together again.
“I really am sorry,” Dean whispers against the shell of his ear after a while.
“I know.”
“I thought…” Dean starts, but his voice breaks and the sentence is left hanging in the air for a while.
Cas knows what he means. Knows it’s what keeps waking him up at night looking for him despite the years they’ve spent together. Knows it’s what gets him to rush through their house to find him whenever he wakes up alone in bed. Knows it’s why he grips him so tight when they kiss, why he clenches so hard at his hips when they make love, why he keeps making a point of telling Cas he needs him over and over. Years of reassurance don’t erase trauma, and Castiel leaving the house for hours with no indications as to where he’s gone certainly did cause Dean’s trauma to resurface even harder than before, and he suddenly feels terrible.
“I’m not leaving,” he says quietly, withdrawing from where he’s been pressed up against the skin of Dean’s neck to look at him, steady blue meeting wild green, “not today, not ever.”
“You say that like you’re so sure, but you bolted out for hours because of me and I couldn’t find you, and —“
“Dean,” Cas says calmly, swiping a finger under his chin, bringing his husband's eyes back on him, “I’m never leaving you. Not today, not ever. It’s not a promise, it’s a fact.”
Dean closes his eyes as Castiel brings his hand to rest on his cheek, a thumb brushing lightly at his cheekbone, watching him carefully.
“I’m sorry, too.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have left that way. I should’ve told you where I was going, at least.”
Cas brings his other hand to rest on Dean’s cheek, framing his face and brushing both of his thumbs along the line of the hunter’s jaw as he brings his forehead to rest against Dean’s. When he opens his eyes, their eyes meet again and it’s suddenly too much for both of them.
They meet in the middle, and it’s soft and tender, and full of love and forgiveness, a hint of pain and regrets floating in the air as they taste each other’s lips and get lost in each other, as they usually do. Cas slides his hand to rest around Dean’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer.
“I’m still angry,” he mumbles against Dean’s lips when they part after a while.
“Okay,” Dean concedes.
“And you’re going to be in the doghouse for a while.”
“Alright, I can deal with that,” Dean answers with a weak smile, brushing his lips over Cas’, “can we head back now?”
“Yeah.”
It still takes them several minutes and a few shallow kisses to finally untangle from each other, before they start making their way back home through the forest, after one last glance at Castiel’s safe place.
The water will still fall onto the pool below tomorrow, and the leaves will keep fading into crimson and auburn until winter comes in a few months, and he and Dean? No matter what comes their way, and no matter what argument they get into?
They’ll be here tomorrow and for the rest of the time to come.