Work Text:
Castiel returns from the Empty on a Thursday. There’s a joke in there about that, but since he’s no longer an angel of anything, he tries not to think about it. Also, Castiel is not good with jokes, especially those in English. That’s not the point, though. The point is that between that Thursday (at 10:23 AM, if you’re being pedantic, which Castiel has been told to not be) and the following Tuesday evening, Dean touches him twenty-three times. Okay, maybe he’s going to be pedantic anyway, because the number really matters. Not in and of itself (though Castiel has always liked twenty-three; it’s a nice number), but the fact that Dean touches him twenty-three times over the course of six days is significant.
Dean is a tactile man. He’s always running his hands over fabrics, and he can’t keep them out of any box full of probably cursed objects. He touches waitresses when he talks to them, he nudges Sam when he tells one of his ridiculous jokes, he puts comforting hands on terrified witnesses when trying to get answers. And though he touches Castiel on occasion, it’s generally only when one of them is dying or has just come back from the dead or the occasional back pat.
Dean, of course, hugs him when he first comes back from the Empty. Tears in his eyes, he pulls Castiel close and wraps him in his comforting warmth, and for far longer than he usually does. Other than the length, the hug is not unusual for the circumstances. It’s expected, the hug. The rest of the touches, however, are more confusing to Castiel.
It starts the very day he comes back (comes home; Dean says the bunker is his home). They’re sitting at the kitchen table with Sam and Jack. The food is long finished, and they’re, as Dean calls it, shooting the breeze. Castiel has been given a rundown of what happened with Chuck after the Empty came for him. How Jack took his power and defeated him, and they left Chuck to his (now human) devices. How Jack is working to fix Heaven and all of creation so he can let his power dissipate into the world while he becomes human—to him, hands off means no single all-powerful entity, and Castiel is proud of him for that. But before that happens, the afterlife needs to be fixed. Castiel—no, he is truly and gladly just Cas now, he is not ‘of God’ anymore—will be giving him some advice, but he’d rather stay out of it as much as possible, now that he’s human for good.
Jack is giving them the latest news on Heaven when it happens. That first touch. There’s a nudge on Cas’s socked foot. At first, he thinks it’s an accident, someone moving their foot without knowing where the other feet are under the table (it’s little things like this that Cas never thought about as being so incredibly human, but it is), but the foot (also socked) simply moves a little so that the ankle is touching Cas’s. Dean is the only one wearing socks apart from Cas, so it must be his foot. It’s a light touch, the barest hint of heat on Cas’s ankle. He tries to give Dean a surreptitious glance while pretending to be occupied with the crumbs on his plate, but Dean seems to be focused on reading the label of his beer. He’s not looking at Cas or trying to get his attention. His foot is simply resting next to Cas’s. Cas waits a couple of minutes, then moves his own foot under the pretense of sitting straighter in his seat. It’s not that he wants the touch to go away, he’s just not sure what’s happening. He thinks Dean doesn’t actually want to be touching Cas, that he moved his foot not realizing Cas’s would also be there, and then in a bid to not appear ‘freaked out’ by Cas’s confession, he left it there.
See, they haven’t talked about Cas’s confession. Of course they haven’t. They wouldn’t be Winchesters if they didn’t avoid talking about feelings. The confession was essentially a deathbed one, and those are not touched with a ten-foot pole even once death is revoked. But Cas has noticed how very careful Dean has been since then. He’s been extra fidgety, and he vacillates between holding eye contact longer than necessary and refusing to meet Cas’s own gaze. His smiles seem just slightly forced. Cas knows that they could continue this way, never talk about it again, even if they live another fifty years. In fact, given that Dean hasn’t mentioned it, Cas would be extremely happy to never mention it again. He meant every word of it, of course he did. He’d say it all again, just for the rush of joy and contentment it brought him. But he didn’t exactly expect to live more than a few seconds past the confession, so he didn’t think through what his return might do for the future of their friendship. But Dean’s mostly acting like nothing happened, so Cas is happily following his lead. Except now Dean is trying extra hard to show how normal everything is. Therefore, Cas has to navigate that to make sure he doesn’t feel ‘weirded out’ by anything he might consider untoward. So Cas moves his foot, even though he’d rather touch Dean for the rest of their lives.
***
The second time Dean touches him is that same night. Jack is back in Heaven, and the remaining bunker inhabitants have decided to head for bed. Sam has just veered off to his room, and Cas and Dean keep going a little farther down the hall to where their doors stand across from each other. As Cas turns to face his door, he feels a tug on his arm. Dean pulls him until they’re facing each other again, and before Cas can wonder what’s happening, he’s being wrapped in warm arms and held tight against the man he loves. It’s wonderful. He feels so secure and peaceful. He could stay here forever. However. This hug makes no sense. They’ve already had their post-resurrection hug. For a general parting of ways, he might at most get a ‘manly’ shoulder pat from Dean. Not this amazing thing. Not this long—so very long—steady hug.
After he reaches the point of feeling greedy keeping this up, Cas whispers, “Dean?”
Dean takes a deep breath before slowly backing up. His left hand slides up to grab the side of Cas’s neck, the other lands on his bicep. Both squeeze tight, and Dean looks him directly in the eye (from well within his usual ‘personal space’ distance) and says, “Don’t you dare do that to me again, Cas. No more sacrificing yourself to save me. No more leaving me alone. No more- I need you, okay?”
“Dean …” Cas begins, but he doesn’t know what to say. He can’t promise not to leave again. Hopefully there are no more world-ending disasters to avert, but he could still die on a hunt or even just crossing the street. He could die of an aneurism. But even though these scenarios run through his head, he also wants to say ‘I will never leave you, Dean Winchester. I could never. I need you too. I love you. You are my world.’ But he can’t exactly say that either. No dropping the L-word if one of them isn’t dying.
Dean’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and he finally pulls his hands back, leaving Cas bereft. He squeezes the bridge of his nose and puts his head down. “Just stay, Cas. Please.”
“I’ll … I’ll stay if its within my power,” he finally promises. It seems so paltry, but Dean lets out a relieved breath and nods. Cas feels the relief too. He knows things are different now, but he can’t help remembering the last time he’d been human, and he’d been made (by a reluctant Dean, so the blame must not all be laid on him) to leave the bunker. Knowing he’s needed here is nice.
“Good. Great. I’ll … I’ll stay too, okay?” Dean promises.
A tension Cas hadn’t know he was still holding releases. It’s not a love confession—he’s not expecting to ever get that, and that’s just fine—but it’s still very important. This is them promising to always be there for each other, to be important to each other. It’s something they both need now.
“Good. Great,” Cas mimics Dean’s words, making Dean huff a short laugh.
“Okay. Now, you should hit the hay, man. First night re-humaned. You gotta be exhausted.”
Cas hums in acknowledgement, and they go their separate ways. He’s not sure what to do with this new version of Dean, but he’s not going to complain. Not when his touch lingers for hours after.
***
The third time Dean touches him is that next morning. Cas is sitting at a library table with a hot mug of glorious caffeine and a book on angel summoning (forty-three percent accurate). He hears the slide of slippers on the floor and expects Dean to drop into the chair across from him or perhaps next to him. What Cas does not expect is to feel fingers ruffling his hair. He looks up as best he can without dislodging those (strong, warm, comforting) fingers, his eyes straining to see Dean’s face. Dean has his own mug of coffee and a teasing grin on his face.
“Up and at ‘em early, huh? How’s the book?”
“Inaccurate,” Cas replies, glancing at it askance. “But it passes the time.”
He was plagued by insomnia last time he was human, but he’d been hoping that with a safe space and an actual mattress in a room of his own, he’d fare better this time. Seems that won’t be the case, however, so Cas has been up since 4:33 AM. He wandered the bunker for a while before making coffee and finding a book to keep him company until the Winchesters woke. Sam left about twenty minutes ago for a run, but Cas is surprised to see Dean awake this early.
Dean’s fingers continue to softly massage Cas’s head, almost absentmindedly. Though Cas is still confused, he decides not to question it. If he asks, Dean might ‘freak out,’ and then he’ll stop touching Cas. “You’re up early,” he finally settles on saying.
Dean hums, sets down his coffee cup on the table, and leans over to page through the book. Cas feels the heat of his stomach against his upper back and head, and he breathes in the smell of fresh laundry and Dean’s deodorant. He lets his eyes slide closed for eight seconds while he revels in it.
“Nightmare, couldn’t get back to sleep,” Dean says offhandedly, standing upright again. His hand stays in Cas’s hair, though the fingers are now still.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks, though he knows the answer.
“Nah. But I thought we could grab breakfast, then go shopping, since we’re both up.”
“Shopping?” It’s odd, having a conversation with someone standing directly behind you, and with their hand still resting in your hair. For one, Cas is afraid to even gesture for fear of dislodging said hand. For another, he prefers seeing someone’s face when speaking to them. He’s still not great at parsing the nuances of human conversation, but body language does help some. Especially with Dean, whose mannerisms and ticks Cas could list in his sleep.
Dean must feel similarly, because he slides his hand away and drops in the seat next to Cas’s, turning it at an angle so he’s facing him. “Yeah, I’m fine with you stealing shirts and toothpaste, but I’m sure you want your own stuff. And I’d prefer if you had your own underwear,” he explains with a wink (a wink? what?).
“Oh. Yes, I supposed I should get a few things.”
Dean nods and proceeds to chatter about things Cas should have, and then starts making notes on his phone when he realizes they have practically no food in the bunker and need to make a grocery run as well.
A phantom heat lingers on his head. Cas is still confused. Dean seems to be acting completely normally, other than these strange (but far from unwelcome) touches. Again, he decides not to call attention to it, and instead just enjoy this odd change to their relationship.
***
Touches four, five, and six are small things. A hand to Cas’s back, guiding him through a busy store. Fingers to Cas’s wrist to get his attention when Dean joins him for TV watching that evening. Another hug when they part ways that night, though that one is more the usual short with three pats on the back type, rather than the long, warm ones they’ve shared twice now. Still odd for simply a bedtime departure, though.
On Saturday, Dean touches Cas four times. He’s growing … Cas wouldn’t say he’s growing used to them, but he’s at least not as surprised when they happen, though he’s still unsure why they’re happening at all. When Sam brings up Dean’s nightmares on Sunday morning, however, it begins to make sense.
Sam mentions them offhandedly as Cas is approaching the kitchen where the brothers are eating breakfast. “Still having the nightmares, huh?”
“They’re worse than usual lately,” Cas notes as he enters the room, picking up the questioning.
Both brothers startle a little at his entrance. Dean mutters something about a bell, an old joke at this point, and not at all amusing, so Cas ignores him. He pours himself a coffee and sits across from them.
“Are they different from the old ones?” he asks.
Dean shrugs, looking down at his bowl of cereal. “Just … fresher these days.”
Cas nods. “Because of Chuck.”
Dean looks up, an exasperated expression on his face. “No, dumbass. Because my best friend got sucked away by black goo right in front of me.”
“I got better,” Cas says, proud of his movie reference, but it falls flat, as all of his jokes do.
“Yeah, well, tell that to the twenty-two days I thought you were dead. That’s at least forty times I tried and failed to pull dream-you away from the Empty.”
“Oh.” Oh. He gets it now. Dean must be touching him because in the dreams he can’t. He probably needs to feel that Cas is real, that he has a pulse and is breathing, that he’s not a puddle of goo or thin air. He’s real. He’s here. Yes, now Dean’s actions make sense.
Dean shrugs tightly. “They’ll go away soon enough. I’m fine.”
Cas doubts that, but from the mutinous look Dean is giving him, this conversation is over.
***
Dean touches Cas five times that Sunday. He doesn’t touch him at all directly after the nightmare conversation, as if he’s embarrassed, but then he apparently decides to make up for it with three in quick succession, with the last two more spread out. At the end of the day, Cas is ready for their now-regular goodnight hug. Some days it’s short, and others it’s long, but Dean always initiates one. Cas doesn’t stiffen at the latest hug, now that he knows why Dean is giving them, and he just enjoys the warmth, the feeling of safety, of—dare he say it—love. They’re not what Cas sometimes wishes they were (that is, good night kisses, or even better, good night cuddling), but he adores them all the same. If this is what it’s like living with Dean for the rest of their lives, it’s pretty great. Cas won’t complain.
And the rest of the family is also reaping the benefits from this new touching. Sam gets more pats on the back and hair ruffles (though those may be meant to annoy him). Jack gets hello and goodbye hugs, which make him light up like a Christmas tree, and the whole room feels cheerier as his happiness literally rolls off him. There are fewer snide comments and more soft words. The whole bunker feels happier now, warmer, despite the ambient temperature remaining the same. It feels like home.
***
Monday brings only three further touches. Dean has to run a statue over to Eileen who is five hours away, because Sam sprained his ankle while running that morning, and Dean won’t let him drive. Cas is ready to offer to go with him so he’s not making the drive alone, but then Jack pops in needing advice. By the time they’ve talked Jack into not healing Sam (noninterference is still hard for him), Dean has gotten dressed and retrieved the statue. He comes up between Cas and Jack from behind and slings an arm around each of them.
“Keep the big lug off his feet, would ya?” Dean whispers in Cas’s ear, and his nose brushes against Cas’s cheek. It’s a struggle not to shiver at the sensation. He channels the movement into a shaky nod, skin meeting skin again as he does so.
“And you don’t overwork your dad, ‘kay?” Dean says, louder, to Jack.
“Yessir!” Jack agrees, diving in to put both arms around Dean. “I love that we hug now. Isn’t it great, Cas?” he asks, with the innocence of a child he still has.
“Yes, Jack,” Cas agrees with a low laugh as Dean is hugged nearly to death by God. “Don’t suffocate Dean.”
“Sorry!” Jack says, pulling back with a huge grin. “We should get to work now anyway. Have a good drive, Dean. Give Eileen a hug for me, and tell her to come visit after she’s done, because Sam really misses her.”
Sam chokes on the sip of coffee he’s just taken. Dean laughs, walks over to the chair he’s sitting in, and slaps his brother on the back. “Oh, I definitely will,” he says with a huge grin on his face. Sam splutters until Dean puts an arm around his neck and pushes his brother’s face in his stomach to quiet him.
***
When Dean returns that evening, he’s got a few blood splatters on his jacket and exhaustion on his face. Cas has just returned to the library from the bathroom (he has not missed needing to relieve himself six to ten times a day) when Dean drags himself into the room. Before Cas can take a seat, Dean pulls him in for a hug. Cas goes willingly, putting his own arms around Dean.
“Ugh. I’m too old for this shit,” he mutters into Cas’s neck. It tickles but also is very nice.
Cas waits a few moments for the hug to end before he replies, but Dean keeps holding him close, so he finally answers into his hair (dusty, but soft). “Hunting?”
Dean hums. “That too. Meant the long drives, though. Not sure how I’ve managed them for so long, but shit, it’s exhausting. My back and neck hurt, and my left foot kept falling asleep on the drive home, probably wrenched something during the fight.” He sighs, unwittingly tickling Cas again with his breath. He continues to hold him tight.
“Thought you were just delivering a statue,” Cas comments. He thinks he could stay here like this indefinitely, even though Dean smells of sweat, dirt, and blood.
“Eh, you know how it goes. You drop off a statue, then get to talking about the monster, and next thing you know, you’re getting knocked to the ground by said monster. The statue ended up working better as a club, at least to knock ‘em out. Though we used it for the ritual after, I guess.” Dean sighs again and slowly pulls away.
“And the blood?” Cas asks. He’s not ready for the touching to end, so he pats Dean’s chest where a handful of splatters landed.
Dean gives him that lopsided smile that he uses when he’s trying to be cute and innocent. “Might have had to chop a hand off when he tried to crawl away.” He shrugs, all ‘what can you do?’ attitude.
Cas rolls his eyes, but he knows he looks far too fond. “Give me the jacket so I can soak it in cold water.”
Dean nudges him in the side with a soft fist. “Okay, honeybunch.” Cas’s face must show his confusion, because Dean chuckles. “You’re acting like some stay-at-home wife from the fifties. Did you make a hot, home-cooked meal too?”
Cas’s face scrunches. “You don’t want anything I cook, Dean. You’ve told me that yourself.” He can’t help wondering what life would be like if he was a—well, not a stay-at-home wife, but someone special to Dean. No, he is special to Dean. If he didn’t know that before, he has plenty of touches to back it up at this point. But they’re not … they’re not that. Not romantic partners, not married. Even though sometimes … it feels so close to that. When they hug for two minutes and whisper into each other’s ear.
Dean tosses his head back and laughs. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true, man.” He shrugs out of his jacket, which he hands to Cas. “Okay, Eileen should be here soon. I need a shower, a beer, and a sandwich, in that order.” He shakes a finger at Cas, face serious, like he’s imparting great wisdom. “Always do things in the right order. It’s very important.”
Cas doesn’t let himself think about what it means that apparently the first thing on Dean’s list when he got home was to hug his best friend. He doesn’t want to be disappointed if he’s wrong.
***
Tuesday morning, Cas is eating cereal at the kitchen table when Dean shuffles into the room. He rubs his head and yawns as he fills a mug with coffee, then slumps down across from Cas at the table. Socked feet meet under the table for their twenty-first touch, and Dean leans an elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. He gazes fondly at Cas, who realizes this is not the zombie shuffle of one kept awake by nightmares. He also realizes it’s almost nine AM.
“You didn’t have a nightmare last night.” His stomach plummets in that human way he doesn’t care for. If Dean is having less nightmares, he won’t need to touch Cas as much anymore. He won’t need to prove to himself that Cas is real and here with him. Cas had known it was an eventuality, but he’d hoped for more time. Which is so selfish and terrible, considering it would mean more nightmares for Dean.
Dean, oblivious to the inner turmoil happening across the table, just gives a quiet smile. “No nightmare.” Their feet are still touching. It must be inadvertent. Dean obviously isn’t paying attention. After a few minutes, he gets to his feet, stretches far too long for Cas’s sanity, then collects a bowl and spoon before shuffling back to the table for the cereal and milk Cas hasn’t put away yet.
They’re both chewing quietly when there’s a tap on the table. Cas looks up. Dean meets his eyes, then tosses his chin up. Cas turns to see Eileen stumble into the room. Her hair is a mess, she wears a large t-shirt and boxers, and her eyes are barely open. She’s followed closely by Sam, who is in a similar state of dishabille and wakefulness, along with the limp from his injured ankle. Cas averts his eyes like a good human should and glances back at Dean, who bounces his eyebrows and grins between smacking his cereal in his mouth. Cas rolls his whole face at Dean.
“Have a good night, Sammy?” Dean asks with a ridiculous leer.
Sam jumps, which makes Eileen twist and look for danger. When she sees Dean’s expression, she gives a smug grin. “If you’re asking if I got lucky last night, I sure did.”
Cas catches Sam’s eyes, they give each other commiserating looks, and Sam shrugs, as if saying ‘what can you do?’ Cas agrees with a nod. He waves to get Eileen’s attention, then signs, “Good morning. It’s nice to see you. Hunt go okay?” because he was asleep before she arrived at the bunker last night.
She tells him about the hunt as Sam bustles around getting caffeine and food for them both, then the four sit and chat until long after the cereal and coffee are gone. It’s nice that they get this now. They’re not constantly waiting for the next apocalypse to start, they’re not needing to find new hunts, they’re allowed to just have some peace and quiet for a while. He’s not sure how long before this gets boring, but he’s going to enjoy it for now, same as he did with Dean’s touches. He frowns, not wanting to think about that loss right now. Not when his family is happy and safe around him.
Dean tips his head down a bit, trying to catch Cas’s lowered eyes. His eyebrows do that thing that means he’s asking if Cas is okay. Cas nods and waves it off.
***
The twenty-second time Dean touches Cas, it’s a strong pat on the back congratulating him on a job well done getting the blood out of Dean’s jacket. It’s a normal touch—the old normal, that is—and Cas reminds himself to get used to it. The past six days have been an anomaly. Just Dean feeling off kilter as he readjusts to having Cas back. From now on, no more soft touches guiding him, no feet meeting under tables. No long, warm, safe hugs. Just friendly pats on the back. The memory of those twenty-two touches lingers in a way that’s almost painful in hindsight.
***
The twenty-third time Dean touches Cas, it’s completely unexpected. Even though he’s had five previous nights to get used to the hugs, he’d steeled himself for not having them anymore, or at least not on days when Dean doesn’t have a nightmare. But Dean pulls him in, easy as anything, just as he’d done every night since his return. He tucks his chin over Cas’s shoulder and squeezes him just the right amount. With a whiff of lingering aftershave, Cas lets out a sob, much to his surprise—human emotions still catch him off guard. Dean notices and pulls his head back to look at him, though his arms loosen only slightly.
“Cas?” His brows are furrowed, crow’s feet more pronounced than usual around his eyes.
“It’s noth–”
“No, that’s your trying-to-bury-that-you’re-upset expression. Now tell me.” One hand slides from Cas’s back to the side of his head.
He doesn’t want to. It’s silly. He’s being greedy. This isn’t worth shedding tears over.
“Cas.” It’s Dean’s warning voice, and he gently shakes Cas’s head.
Cas buries his face in Dean’s neck. He can’t look at him. And he wants to hold onto this hug as long as he can. “Your nightmares are tapering off.”
Dean swipes his thumb over Cas’s ear. His chest rumbles an affirmation. “Not somethin’ to cry over, though, is it?”
“No, but fewer nightmares means fewer …” He groans. “Don’t make me say it, Dean.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. It can’t be that bad.”
In his flustered state, he almost misses the term of endearment. It makes him pause. “Wh- what did you just say?”
“I- uh, I mean. Um. Sweetheart?” The last word is so quiet even Cas has trouble hearing it right against Dean’s neck.
Oh. He smiles and squeezes Dean tighter.
Dean huffs. “Um, I guess you don’t hate it?”
“No, I don’t hate it at all.”
“Okay. Good. And, um. Maybe you’d be amenab–”
“Yes.”
Dean laughs. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
Cas pulls his face back enough to catch Dean’s eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I’m amenable to anything, if it’s with you.”
“Hmm.” Dean slides his hands up to Cas’s face, and it’s lovely. “Better watch what you promise. You’ll end up wearing cowboy boots and a lab coat to the grocery store.”
Cas frowns. He understands the reference, but he’s not sure what Dr. Sexy has to do with him or grocery shopping. “Why–”
“Let’s not go there.” Dean looks thoughtful. “For now.”
Cas decides it’s better not to ask. They have more important things to focus on. “Where should we go instead? For now.”
Dean’s eyes track down to Cas’s lips. “I can think of a few things.”
The twenty-fourth touch is glorious. The twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth magnificent.
After that, Cas loses count. He expects the total to be near infinity.