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Dean turned a page in his book as he sat on the couch beside a still Castiel. His squared off glasses had slid to the tip of his nose as he leaned over his knees, his torso pointing to the coffee table strewn with half-empty bottles and take out containers, more books, and piles of papers that had the scratchy scribbling of his and Sam's notes. The bunker was quiet. The dull hum of the radio on the dining table was the only sound that occupied the space.
As he turned another page in the book, the door to the bunker crashed open as Sam stumbled into the room. “Dean! Cas! I was out at the library and found something on— what’s wrong with Cas?”
Sam looked between Dean and Castiel, focusing more on the angel who was sitting ramrod straight, moving his lips as if he was having a silent conversation with someone, and eyes glowing a blinding blue-white color that seemed to give Dean a better light source for his reading than the dim, yellow light coming off of the old lamp.
“Shh,” Dean said, finally breaking his focus and noticed his glasses that had fallen down his face. He pushed them back up his nose before shifting in his seat slightly to get comfortable again. “Don’t disturb him. He's on angel radio.”
“Angel radio?” Sam repeated, placing a few books and the two boxes of pizza he had carried with him onto the messy dining table. “Are there other angels out there?”
“I don't know, Sammy. Just let the man work.”
“Not a man,” Cas responded, blinking a few times and turning to look at Sam in acknowledgement of his return.
“My bad, babe,” Dean said casually, patting Cas's leg as he reached over to place a sticky note in the book he was reading, scribbling another note in it for their reference. With a small nod, Cas turned back to stare at the empty space in the air and resumed his focus, eyes never dimming.
“Anyways,” Sam started, clearing the space on the table to make room for the pizza boxes and attempting to organize some of their notes. “I think I found a lead on the werewolf situation in town.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dean said, turning back to look at Sam before quietly closing his book and setting it aside with the reading glasses on top. He made sure to not disturb Castiel's form and focus as he got up and walked over to the dinner table, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box.
“The bodies in the morgue were all missing their hearts, right?'' Sam said, rifling through the papers before pulling up a small notepad they used when they were disguised as FBI agents. “And the full moon is in a few days. Given the amount of bodies and how all the murders started increasing over the course of the month, I think we’ve got a mass werewolf siring situation on our hands.”
“How many are we talking here? Ten? Twenty?” asked Dean, halfway through his slice of pizza.
“My best guess?” Sam started, looking between the notepad and Dean. “At least a third of the town.”
Dean felt his pizza go down the wrong pipe.
His coughing fit snapped Castiel out of his trance who immediately appeared by Dean's side, hands on Dean's hunched over back as a water bottle appeared on the table where there hadn’t been one before. “Are you okay? Drink something. This is why you should not inhale your food. Humans must chew food thoroughly before it goes down their esophagus.”
Sam stood with an expression that fought between amusement and concern. “Did you just miracle him a water bottle?”
Castiel looked up at Sam but continued to rub soothing circles on Dean's back. “He could die.”
“He won’t die from eating a pizza, Cas. Even if he did, he’d spend the rest of eternity as a ghost denying it.”
“Shut up,” Dean choked out, finally able to form words between his coughs.
Sam didn’t bother fighting the smile on his face anymore. “Maybe they’re trying to expand their pack. Having a town of werewolves would at least create a safe haven for them if they ever need it. And where better than a town called Wolfsburg?”
Dean was finally able to stand up right and control his coughing, taking a large drink from the water bottle before speaking again. “Eventually they’re gonna run out of hearts to eat. Especially with a pack that big and only getting bigger every month.” He put the cap back onto the water bottle. “Animal attacks means friendly. But with all the people piling up in the morgue, I don't think we’re dealing with a bunch of Clifford the Big Red Dogs.”
“Werewolves are neither red nor dogs, Dean,” Castiel said, still keeping his hand on Dean's lower back— just in case.
Dean turned to look at Castiel, scanning over his entire face before responding to him. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”
Sam shifted his weight from leg to leg, waiting for the two to break off their look. moments passed. Too many moments passed before Sam finally broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Guys… Still here. Still in the room.”
“Huh? What? Oh, yeah, uh. Hm,” Dean looked all around the room, too flustered to say anything of importance as he stumbled to find something to fill the silence. “Any news via Angel FM? Someone must’ve told you something about where this pack is located, right?”
“It was hard to interpret. There’s been interference these days since I have been away for so long, but I believe I found a lead.”
“And we’ve done research on silver bullets and werewolf lore for the past week,” Sam continued. “I think we’re ready.”
“Alright,” Dean said, flashing a bright smile at both Sam and Castiel. “Let's show them who the real alphas are.”
Pain. Exasperation. Embarrassment. All three emotions were on Sam's face before he walked away, cringing too much to respond or be in the same room as his brother.
“What?” Dean turned to Castiel. “That was a good one.”
“There is only one alpha per pack of werewolves,” Castiel responded, allowing himself to be wrapped up in Dean’s arms as he continued to discuss the social dynamics of werewolf packs. Dean simply kept his bright smile on his face and rested his chin on Castiel's shoulder as he let the angel ramble away, letting the sound of his voice soothe his fears.
~*~
“That was more than a third of the town,” Dean said. His voice was like gravel. His face and neck were already swelling up from the injuries he obtained from the fight as he struggled to speak.
“I said it was my best guess,” Sam replied. He was hunched over, applying pressure to the wound across the middle of his body with both of his arms.
As they returned from their fight, having saved as many of the newly sired werewolves as they could, two of the three figures limped across the bunker. Castiel had transported them back to the main room as he helped the two brothers gently sit down on the kitchen table. Since he was an angel, his pacifist nature usually kept him out of the battles. Instead, he took on the role of escape route and caretaker when the brothers were roughed up from a fight.
Out of the two of them, Dean was the most badly injured. Half of his face had been torn up and had swollen from the fight— along with a few broken ribs from being thrown against the wall. Sam's freshly broken ankle and gash across his abdomen would need at least a few week’s worth of bedrest on the Winchester healing timeline.
Castiel decided to focus on Sam first since his injuries would be a quicker fix. He rolled up the cuff of Sam’s jeans and placed both of his hands against his ankle, quickly miracling and healing the broken bones. Stepping away to give him some space, Castiel asked if Sam could walk with ease.
With a grunt, Sam lifted himself off of the chair and took a few test steps around. He could only feel the dull ache of a sprain now. “Better. Thanks, Cas.” Sam clutched onto his abdomen, the flannel of his once blue shirt now being soaked up with his blood. “This isn’t too bad. Take care of Dean, I'll get this.” After years of being on the road, he had gotten good at stitching up his own wounds.
Castiel nodded in response before immediately going to dean’s side. As Sam walked out of the room, he took one glance out of concern for his brother. But once he saw Dean's head cradled in both of Castiel's hands, he continued on his way to the bathroom to find the medicine kit, knowing he was in capable hands.
Bones were easy for Castiel to fix. A few snaps here, a few shifts there. It was like a jigsaw puzzle; no matter how badly splintered off the bones were, he could put them back together. Human flesh, on the other hand, was an entirely different category. There were soft bumps and ridges, pores and blood vessels to account for, and soft planes that contoured the face that he could not replicate well enough no matter how hard he tried.
Gently, he laid Dean against the back of the chair, attempting to focus on what he did best first. He unbuttoned Dean's shirt with steady hands, but his eyes betrayed him. Dean could read the fear and sadness that swam in Castiel's blue eyes. He had years worth of practice interpreting his looks and how to read what he attempted to hide. Even with one eye swollen shut, Dean could see what Castiel was trying to hold back.
“Cas,” Dean started before cutting himself off with a grunt as Castiel rolled up his undershirt and grazed his bruised chest.
Castiel stopped at the noise, eyes snapping up and darting across Dean’s face before going back to work. Castiel knew if he lingered too long on his face he would not be able to work on the one thing he could fix in an instant.
As gently as he could, he traced his hands across Dean's rib cage, trying to find the broken ribs and miracling them back into place one by one. As he felt Dean's chest rise and fall beneath his fingers, he could tell that Dean was able to breathe easier and was feeling better with every bone he put back into place— even if his face was still damaged. Castiel let out a small sigh of relief.
Once the final bone had been fixed, Castiel gently rolled the shirt back into place. “It will be tender there for a while.” Castiel turned to the medicine box he had also miracled on the table since Sam was using the one in the bathroom. He rummaged through the box as Dean shifted in his seat, finding a more comfortable position to sit in as he watched his partner through one good eye.
Castiel turned back to look at Dean. He rested a hand on the undamaged half of his face. His thumb grazed against Dean's cheekbone as he cupped his cheek in his hand, struggling between the overwhelming fear and grief that filled him after a particularly harrowing fight and the overwhelming love that poured out of him knowing that Dean was still alive, still breathing. Dean reached up and took Castiel's hand in his own, pressing his lips against Castiel's open palm.
“I should have been there,” Castiel said, voice breaking as his emotions squeezed at his chest and burned at his eyes.
“You were there,” Dean rasped, his lips moving only a breath away from Castiel's palm. The bruising was fresh and covered his face in deep blotches. Purple and red and everywhere.
“If I could fight—“ he started before cutting himself off, turning to grasp the disinfectant and tending to one of the wounds on Dean's face right above his eyebrow. His free hand used Dean’s jaw to steady both of them as he cleaned the wound. Dean flinched from the initial sting but used Castiel’s eyes as his anchor, even if they were looking above his line of sight. He knew he was safe in his hands. Castiel tried to focus on one mark at a time as he made his way down the side of Dean's face, gently cleaning away the red and wondering how humans could be so fragile and still able to withstand all that they did. By the time he cleaned up the wounds, his voice was barely above a whisper. “If I could help you more and do more than just shield you away from it all—“
“Cas. Look at me.”
Castiel froze. “I am looking at you.”
“No. Look at me.”
Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Castiel looked into Dean's eyes. The one that had swollen shut was purple with a trail of red streaming across it, but the other was clear and green. Vibrant and green and full of life.
“You did all that you could. You helped us countless times. Hell, you’re even helping us now. Fighting doesn’t look like fists and guns all the time. Sometimes it’s just fighting to take care of someone or patching yourself up. Fighting to see another day and keep living. Doesn’t end when the battle is over. It never stops.” Dean looked back and forth between Castiel's eyes, hoping that his words would reach him— hoping that he’d understand. “And your fight is just as important as anyone else’s.”
“Dean,” Castiel started as his firm hold on Dean's jaw lightened into something even more tender— a different form of care. But he hesitated. He didn’t know what to say. He was feeling too many things all at once, and there were too many thoughts in his head. He didn’t know what he wanted to say or how he wanted to say it.
Luckily, he didn’t have to. He felt Dean's lips press against his own, closing the gap between them and allowing Castiel's mind to go blank.
The kiss was gentle at first. Dean didn’t want to scare Castiel with the sudden movement. After a moment, Castiel responded, lips moving against lips, and allowing himself to breathe Dean into him. The kiss quickly became more and more desperate. Castiel pushed out all of his fears and worries and received nothing but love to flood back into him. Neither of them had been the best at words, and Dean needed Castiel to know that he was safe now, that he was okay. He needed him to know how important he was and how much he needed him— how much he loved him. Even if he said as much every day if not every other day, it was never enough. He needed to show him when his words couldn’t get everything across the exact way he wanted them to.
Castiel quickly understood as he responded to the kiss, putting the bandage he was using to clean Dean’s wounds back on the table as he grasped Dean’s shirt with his now free hand. He was careful, not wanting to press into Dean's injuries or cause him any more pain than he was already feeling from the fight. But Dean pressed into him more, gasping slightly from the pain of his wound but grateful for the fresh air that entered into his lungs. He deepened the kiss even further, and Castiel mirrored his movements, tightening his grip on Dean's clothes in an attempt to get even closer than they already were. They were a mix of tongues, lips, and stolen breaths of air as the need continued to grow between them. All they could focus on was the need to tell each other that they were both safe and they were both okay.
Castiel felt Dean move from the chair and followed his movement, allowing both of them to stand to their full heights. He could feel Dean smirk against his lips as he stood a few inches taller than him— a fact that always seemed to amuse him to no end whenever he noticed it. Dean held onto Castiel’s face with both of his hands, pushing them forward until Castiel's legs pressed against the table behind him. He slowly sat down on the table, never breaking the kiss between them as one hand continued to hold Dean’s jaw and the other grazed across his shoulder. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to think for a moment that he would lose the warm feeling of Dean’s skin beneath his fingers— that there would ever me a moment in time without him by his side. Dean slid his hands across Castiel's body until they rested on the table on either side of Castiel's legs, keeping them both of them steady as Castiel's fingers brushed against the hair at the nape of Dean's neck.
The kiss slowly became more chaste. Slow, languid, and infrequent until Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s nose, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and once more to his lips before letting his forehead rest against the other’s. They sat in the soft sweetness of it as if to say ‘I'm here. And so are you. We’re both here, and that’s all that matters,’ exchanging a whispered ‘I love you,’ as they savored the moment. They stayed in that position for what felt like an eternity, listening to the sound of each other's breaths mingling in the air around them.
“See?” Dean said, breaking their silence. A content smirk on his face as they both attempted to catch their breath. “I'm standing. I'm fine. And you must’ve healed my ribs pretty good if I could hold my breath for that long.”
Castiel opened his eyes, letting his hand trail down from Dean’s face to his sides, carefully avoiding the tender parts of his ribs. “Yes. I suppose this is conclusive evidence.”
“Conclusive evidence?” Dean laughed, his breath fanning across Castiel’s face as he pushed off of the table and stood to his full height. “Just give me a week or two, I’ll show you some ‘conclusive evidence,’ alright.”