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Dean traced circles on Cas’ bicep, staring at the door with dreams in his eyes. Even though they’d been together over a year, he always seemed completely in awe when close to Cas. His eyes were glazed over with foggy thoughts, his arms and fingers lazily wandering over his lover’s skin. And Cas, darling as he was, was just as enthralled with Dean.
Cas reached up to touch his partner’s face, cradling his cheek in one hand. Dean sighed and turned to him, kissing him on the nose. “You’re perfect,” Dean whispered. “Just fucking perfect.”
Cas blushed, never tiring of hearing such compliments from Dean. It made his heart soar to know that he loved him so much. But despite this, he always felt like he didn’t know Dean the way Dean knew him. Cas told Dean every single thing he ever felt, and he loved doing it. He wanted Dean to know everything about him, but somehow, he felt that Dean didn’t feel the same way about him. He knew it was probably just insecurity, but it bit at him anyway.
“You are very beautiful, Dean Winchester.” Cas grazed his fingers down Dean’s neck, then his bare chest. “I wish I could have seen you before I pulled you out. I suspect that you were a different person then.”
Dean inhaled sharply, and Cas instantly regretted what he said. He frowned at the pain that darkened Dean’s expression. Cas wanted to know about Dean, about what he did before he met him. He never felt like he knew enough. But clearly, Dean didn’t want to tell him.
“I’m sorry,” Cas said, his voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
Dean shook his head. “No, it’s not that. You’re right.” He swallowed hard, crushing the memories down, down, down. Dean already felt the tears nagging at his eyes, wanting to break free, having wanted to break free for years.
Cas dared himself to keep prying. He could see Dean’s yearning, his desire to talk about it. But above that was fear. Cas didn’t know what Dean was hiding, what was hurting him too much to say. All he knew was that Dean needed another push, another form of encouragement to speak. Cas took a guess, hoping he was going in the right direction of where the pain lied. “I wish I could have seen your body then. The bruises, the bones broken in childhood games, the healed scars from vampires or other monsters.” He raised his eyebrow, hoping.
Dean exhaled, pained. He pulled his arm away from Cas and crossed it in front of his chest, defensive. “Yeah. Other monsters. . .” he trailed off.
This time, Cas waited. He watched Dean’s eyes shift back and forth in thought. Cas brought his fingers to Dean’s head and rubbed gently, massaging love and comfort into him.
Dean took a shuddering breath, then spoke. “Cas, before you healed me, I had these scars.” He brought his hands to his face and pressed the heels of them into his eyes. His thoughts threw horrible insults at him. Don’t tell him, it’s all your fault anyway. You don’t deserve his pity. He won’t love you if he knows. Dean felt disgust for himself rise into his heart, pumping hatred through his veins. But he pushed through, realizing, for the first time, that he wanted a person to know everything about him. He wanted Cas to know. He wanted, finally, to tell someone. And even though he was always scared to do it before, he knew, this time, that the person beside him would never, ever hurt him for telling. Cas wouldn’t. Not ever.
“They didn’t come from vampires. They didn’t come from ghosts. I mean, God knows I had those too, but. . .” he inhaled through his teeth. “My dad gave me my worst scars.”
Cas’ heart stopped. He knew John was bad, of course he knew. He forced Dean into danger, he forced him to parent his brother. He didn’t let him have a childhood, he didn’t take care of him, he didn’t give him the love he needed and deserved. But he never knew John gave him scars.
Dean shuddered. Cas draped his arms over him, pressing his forehead into Dean’s temple. He shifted his legs to place one of them over Dean’s. Cas wrapped himself around Dean, holding him as close as he could.
“He never touched Sam, you know. Because nothing was on Sam. No matter what happened, even if Dad was out all by himself, when he came home, it was my fault. It was my fault, and he’d- he’d hit me. Beat me. Hurt me.” A tear crept down Dean’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. Cas didn’t know what to say, pain for Dean filling his heart, so he held him tighter.
“He stopped using his hands when I got older. He’d just use whatever was around. Sam wasn’t supposed to see, so Dad would take me outside, in the alley, or the car. And he’d just- he’d give me bruises and scars and he’d hurt me until I thought nothing could hurt anymore. And that- that was worse than Hell. Because it was Dad. It wasn’t a demon. It was the guy who was supposed to-” Dean heard himself sob, and he quickly slapped life into his own cheek. Cas gasped, but he didn’t mention it. Not now.
“Dad was supposed to love me. So what the hell was wrong with me, that he couldn’t? That instead, he hated me enough to do that shit to me?” Dean’s breath hitched, and he gulped air in shaky breaths.
Cas sat up and stared straight into Dean’s red, watering eyes. “Nothing was wrong with you.” He put his hands on Dean’s cheeks, rubbing with his thumb the one he’d slapped. “It was not your fault. You did not deserve any of it. You were abused by a horrible, horrible man, and I wish I could take it away. I am so, so sorry, Dean.” Tears filled Cas’ eyes, but he didn’t dare let them drop. He knew the moment was for Dean. But he couldn’t help feeling absolute grief over the horrors Dean had faced. And more than that, he faced them alone.
“I don’t tell people this, Cas,” Dean choked out. “I don’t tell them that my dad ruined me.”
“Dean,” Cas said softly. “You are not ruined.”
Dean gasped, then finally let out a sob. He gently pushed Cas aside, hugging his own knees. He cried, deeply ashamed of himself and wishing, but not wishing, that Cas weren’t there. He sobbed harder, his chest heaving, and Cas rested his chest on Dean’s back. Cas rubbed his shoulders, his head, even his legs beneath the sheet. He just held him. Let him cry. And he didn’t hurt him.
Dean let himself go, not bothering to try to stop crying. The wet sheet stuck to his eyes, his nose ran, his head hurt because he wasn’t breathing as much as he was sobbing. Hearing that the person he loved didn’t think he was ruined, didn’t think it was his fault, and gave him love while he cried was too much for him. It was both expected and unexpected. He had trusted Cas, of course, but something deep inside him told him that Cas would never be able to love him after he told him.
“I love you, Dean,” Cas said, as if he knew Dean needed to hear it.
“I love you,” Dean sobbed. “I’m sorry.”
Cas kissed the back of Dean’s head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I want to know, Dean. I want to know it all. Every time you tell me something from your past, it reminds me of how strong you are. How brave. How kind. How incredible. You are the most wonderful person in the world.”
Dean sobbed for what felt like hours, holding the words he never thought he deserved close to his heart. He couldn’t believe that after he told his worst secret, Cas told him how wonderful he was. Part of him thought Cas would say it was his fault. Another part thought he would hate him, despise him for lying about who he was, and loathe the ruined person lurking inside him. But Cas didn’t feel any of those things. All he did was give Dean pure love.
Cas softly took Dean’s hands and moved them, wrapping them around his waist. He pulled Dean’s head to his chest and leaned back into the bed, caressing Dean’s cheek. Dean listened to Cas’ heartbeat under his ear, feeling the stable rise and fall of Cas’ chest. It comforted him.
“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Cas said. “It’s not your fault. You deserve love. You deserve kindness.” He repeated these phrases, and more similar ones, over and over, hoping they would sink in. Dean held Cas as tight as he could, holding onto the person he loved so much.
“Say it, Dean,” Cas said after Dean’s sobbing had mostly died down. “Tell me it’s not your fault.”
“What?”
“Say it. Say ‘it’s not my fault.’”
Dean scoffed, thinking it was stupid. “It’s not my fault,” he whispered.
“Again.” Cas kept rubbing Dean’s head and back.
“It’s not my fault.” The words felt. . . powerful. Loud. Like he was taking something John had stolen. “It’s not my fault.” He said it louder. “It is not. . . my fault. It’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything. I was a kid!” He sat up slightly, leaning on his elbow, keeping a hand resting on Cas’ chest. He looked into Cas’ beautiful eyes, feeling power radiating through him. “I was a kid. It was not my fault. It’s not my fault.” He breathed more normally, but he still breathed hard. He felt energy coarse through him.
Cas smiled a little, proud. He sat up, and Dean followed. They held each other’s hands and looked at each other. “It is not your fault, Dean.” He said it slowly, keeping eye contact.
“It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.” Dean hugged Cas, hard. “I love you. God, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Dean. Thank you for telling me.”
“Thank you for being you. You’re the reason I could finally tell someone, Cas. You.”
Dean wasn’t healed from one conversation, of course, but he felt the beginning of the journey. He felt the first spark of hope, the first light in the darkness of his past. He knew, in that moment, that he wouldn’t have to live in the shadow of what John did to him forever. He could make it through. And Cas would be there, with him, holding him through it all.