(Un)selfish

Dean is asexual and has never met anybody like him before. When Castiel pulls him out of hell, that all changes. It turns out angels are cut from the same cloth Dean is, and maybe that means he's not so alone after all.

Notes:

A HUGE thank you to mahbbys for the amazing artwork!
Warning that toward the end of this fic, discussions about the Cas/April sex scene in 9x3 are a major plot point. The consent issues are addressed, and it is handled A LOT differently than how it was handled on the show.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

At age 4, a baby is dropped into Dean Winchester's arms and he’s told to run.

At age 8, a shotgun is dropped into Dean Winchester's arms and he’s told to shoot.

At age 10, a baseball is dropped into Dean Winchester's hand and he’s taught how to throw it.

It’s the first time he learns that sometimes people do things just to have fun...? Fun. Yeah. That's a thing.

All Dean has ever known is that he's supposed to take care of Sam. He's never really wanted anything for himself, and as far as he can remember he's never done anything that was completely selfish. So when Bobby takes him out with a mitt in his hand and tells him to throw the ball, Dean has a hard time seeing the point of it all. Why does this matter? Who is he helping? What purpose is this activity serving?

At age 14, Dean Winchester gets his first crush.

At age 16, Dean Winchester gets his first kiss.

At age 17, Dean Winchester questions his sexuality.

"Lilith's in the body of some little girl apparently. Want to check it out?"

"Yeah, might as well."

"Dean."

"Sam. Please. I know. We'll figure it out, all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah I know."

Dean is dying in three days. Going to get dragged off by hellhounds and damned to an eternity of torture. If he could do it over again, he'd...do exactly the same thing. No use kidding himself. He'll always choose Sam. Every time. Even when it's a selfish decision to make.

Probably the most selfish decision he’ll ever make.

After Sam and Dean get matching tattoos over their hearts, it only takes Dean a month of begging and a day of drinking to convince Sam that they should get another matching one.

They’re slightly tipsy when they stumble into the parlor at 10 p.m. with shit-eating grins on their faces. When Dean explains the idea to the girl sitting at the front desk, he’s pretty sure the only reason why she doesn’t question it is because she assumes they’re really drunk.

But lucidity aside, they know what they’re doing, and Sam doesn’t even bitch the next morning when they both wake up with sore underarms.

In beautiful script, huge letters, with an amazing watercolor background and everything, are the words “jerk” and “bitch” under Sam and Dean’s right arms respectively.

Four months after dying, Dean Winchester breathes oxygen and smells grass and feels dirt under his fingernails for the first time in 40 years.

His body feels new. He supposes he was remade, rebuilt into an unblemished version of himself. Except—yeah, there's no changing that. He's still broken.

Now he just needs to find Sammy.

At age 20, Dean Winchester goes to the doctor feeling small and virginal. They do a physical and find him healthy as a horse.

"Hey, doc?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Um, can I ask you something—something personal? About me."

"Of course."

"I, uh, I've never had sex." He expects a reaction from the doctor, but the guy just stares at him. "I don't, um, feel...I've never wanted to...I don't get..."

"Dean, are you saying you don't feel sexual attraction?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess."

The doctor is not nearly as concerned about this as Dean has felt since he hit puberty at 14. He runs some tests and takes some notes, asking questions occasionally, and then he tells Dean that everything is fine.

“Fine? I’m…fine?”

“Some people just don’t feel sexually attracted to anyone, and sometimes they have low sex drives, too. Dean, you’re all right."

Dean fidgets on the table. “But everybody likes sex. I mean, don’t—don’t they?”

“Just because it's rare doesn't mean that it's bad.”

“What’s rare?”

“How about we talk for a minute?”

This is the first time Dean learns exactly what the word asexual means.

It fits.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, throws a wrench in the system.

Well, not necessarily Castiel himself, but the idea of angels in general. Angels are real. They are real, and that changes...well, everything.

When Dean starts calling the angels junkless, he wishes just one of them would correct him or seem insulted or something to indicate to Dean that they actually are not junkless. The problem is that Dean hopes that they are. He hopes that these celestial beings crammed into human bodies are not actually experiencing the things human bodies are meant to experience. Namely, he hopes they are not experiencing arousal.

Not that he’s ever even met anybody else who’s asexual. He’s definitely never met anybody else who has an extremely low sex drive (or if he has, they didn’t mention it—it’s not like it comes up in small talk). But there’s something about angels…something about the way they carry themselves, the way they speak, they way they are—Dean just can’t imagine that they function like “normal” human beings. Cas even says one time that he doesn’t have a soul, another time that he doesn’t have a heart, and Dean actually believes him. He believes that maybe, just maybe, these machines are cut from the same cloth as he is.

But he’s too afraid to ask.

Cas pops in and out of his life like he’s some goddamn fairy godmother ready to teach him a lesson any chance he can get. He’s all you should show me some respect, what were you dreaming about, Dean?, I was hoping you would choose to save this town. He takes Dean back in time, shows up literally in his dreams, flies in and out whenever he damn well pleases. And yet, somewhere in the midst of all of this Dean finds himself…drawn to the angel. Maybe it’s the warlike conditions they’re under or the fact that Cas has made himself Dean’s guardian, but in any case Dean definitely feels something for the weird little guy.

"You like him."

"What?"

"Cas. You like him."

"Sammy, I don't like anybody. How many times do we have to go over this?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But I haven't seen you look at anybody the way you look at him. I know you, Dean. And you like Cas."

Dean sighs and turns a look on Sam to indicate that the conversation is over. Which, of course, proves to Sam that he's absolutely right. Dean doesn't need to see the smirk to know that.

Not that this is anything to worry about at this point in time anyway. Sam is addicted to demon blood and is hell-bent on killing Lilith, they're trying to stop the apocalypse from happening, and the angels are turning Dean into their personal plaything. Maybe, if circumstances were different, then...maybe then Dean would do something. Say something to Cas. See if he—see if he feels the same way or whatever. Yeah, that'll happen in some magical future when their lives slow down.

When the world starts to crash down around them and Sam is lost and nothing makes sense anymore, Dean discovers that Cas does, in fact, have a heart.

“We’ve been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted to say, I’m sorry it ended like this.”

Punching an angel in the face hurts. A lot.

“Try to understand. This is long foretold. This is your—”

“Destiny? Don’t give me that ‘holy’ crap. Destiny, God’s plan—it’s all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch. It’s just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line. You know what’s real? People, families—that’s real. And you’re going to watch them all burn?”

“What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You’ll be at peace.”

Cas is hopeless. Dean begs him to help him get to Sam, and the spineless bastard doesn’t budge.

“What do you care about dying? You’re already dead.”

When Dean says it, he means it.

He takes it back when Cas whisks him off to Chuck’s house an hour later.

“You guys aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t in this story.”

“Yeah, well…we’re making it up as we go.”

There it is. Heart. Castiel’s got it.

When Dean is vaulted five years into the future, it’s difficult to decide which aspect of it is the worst.

First, he’s a machine. Dean has always questioned his own humanity, but looking into the dead eyes and stern lines of his future self’s face, he’s convinced. This man is more robot than person. Dean is tempted to ask him if there’s even anything left downstairs.

Second, everyone looks to him as some kind of leader and clearly doesn’t realize that he’s not the Dean they’re looking for.

Third, Cas.

It’s not the drugs and alcohol that bother him. It’s not even that Cas is human. No, the most troubling thing to Dean is that Cas holds orgies in his cabin with seemingly all the women in the camp. If he’s doing it in the future, then surely there’s a part of him that desires it back in 2009, right?

“What are you, a hippie?”

“I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me.”

“Well, sorry, buddy, where I come from you’ve got a stick up your ass and nothing between your legs.”

Cas turns and glares at him with glassy eyes. “Oh. You’re not now you. What year are you from?”

“2009. What the fuck is this, Cas?”

“Did Zachariah send you here?”

“Yes. Can you please answer my questions?”

Cas tilts his head and smiles in familiarity. “It bothers you that I have sex.”

“What? No.”

“It’s OK, it bothers 2014 you, too. I’ve invited you on several occasions, even private sessions, and you always ignore me.” He steps closer and scrutinizes Dean’s face. “What is it, Dean?”

“I—I just don’t like sex, all right?” He figures he can do his future self a favor and have this conversation for him.

“Really? Interesting…”

“Yeah, well, as far as I knew, you were the same as me. That’s probably why future me is pissed.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

They don’t say anything for several seconds.

“So, were you? The same as me, I mean.”

Cas looks up at the ceiling like he’s considering it. “I think so, yes. Angels are…hardwired differently than humans. Even differently than you.”

“So once you became human, you…?”

“No.” Cas bends two fingers at Dean to make him come closer before he whispers in his ear, “I’m going to let you in on a secret, Dean. I’m pretending.”

Pretending? Dean can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It still doesn’t really explain much at all. Dean thinks back on a conversation he had with Anna several months ago. What she said…it sounds like Cas—this Cas—might be different.

“What happened to you?”

“Life.”

What do you care about dying? You’re already dead.

Cas rebels for them, and it costs him his life.

Dean was the one who talked him into it. He was the one who gave him the last-minute all-in speech that pushed him into selling himself for the Winchesters' cause. Cas didn't even live long enough to learn not to do anything for the Winchesters, didn't live long enough to know that being friends with Sam and Dean is a bad idea.

There is no time to mourn. Sam and Adam are thrown into the cage, and Dean can barely feel a thing. He is mostly blind, on his knees, everyone he ever loved dead.

They stopped the apocalypse. What…good news.

And then he’s healed. His face is no longer swollen and numb. He can see. Cas is standing above him, and he’s—he’s smiling.

“You did it, Dean.”

Yeah. They did it.

“Come on, I’ve been buying you beer for weeks—I deserve to know at least a little backstory.”

“There’s really nothing to tell, man. I’ve had a…boring life.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why’s that?”

“You scope out all the exits every time you go in a place, you keep a gun in your jeans, and you’ve got two different sets of tally marks on your neck.”

Dean nearly spits his beer. OK, so he hasn’t been as inconspicuous as he thought. “All right, you win. Let’s just say I’ve seen some shit, OK?”

Sid raises his hands in surrender. “Yeah, that doesn’t make me curious at all. But I’ll let it slide for now if it means I stay on your good side.” He takes a swig of his beer and stares at Dean for a second. “You’re not still staying with Lisa, are you?”

“Uh, no. She let me crash on her couch just until I could find an apartment to rent. Which I found—a week ago, thank you very much.”

“So you and her are…?”

Dean stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Not sleeping together.”

“Whoa, hey, I was just asking if you were going out or anything.”

Oh. Dean always just assumes people are talking about sex. Isn’t that what relationships are all about anyway? “Oh sorry, um, no—no, we’re not.”

“Why not?”

This is why Dean doesn’t have friends. “I don’t know, we want different things I guess. I don’t really think of her like that.”

“Seriously? You gay or something?”

“No, not exactly,” he mumbles.

“What does that mean?”

“Uh, it’s complicated. Forget it. Next round’s on me.”

It’s been six weeks and two days. Not a day goes by that Dean doesn’t try something to get his brother back, usually followed by liquor and more liquor until the suicidal thoughts go away. True to his routine, he prays to Castiel after shot number seven every time.

Please bring him back like you brought me back.

Are you there? Why aren’t you listening, man?

Is it even possible to bring him back?

I miss you. Why’d you just…disappear?

Surely there’s a way to bring him back, right? I mean, there has to be a way. If you won’t tell me, I’ll find it myself.

He met Lisa when he was 21 and out by himself on a trip. Usually when he went to bars, he got disturbing stares from some of the men and suggestive smiles from some of the ladies. Sometimes people would really come onto him, and that was never fun. He might’ve been small as a kid, but he still knew how to fight—and thank goodness for that because it got him out of a lot of uncomfortable scenarios. But Lisa was different.

She was at the bar with two of her girlfriends, and when she caught Dean staring at her the second time, she came over and plopped down next to him.

“You’re cute,” she stated plainly.

“I try.”

“Just your arms covered, or are they all over?”

Dean instinctively removed his arms from the bar to hide his sleeves. “Not as many as I’d like.”

“Parents don’t like it, huh?”

“My dad nearly killed me when he saw the verse reference on my hand. I wear long sleeve shirts around him now.”

Lisa pulled out a business card then and slid it across the bar. “I could draw you something up while you’re in town. I’d give you a deal.”

“So you came over to talk to me because you’re a tattoo artist?”

Lisa laughed. “You want to get lunch tomorrow?”

The next day at noon, she nibbled at her sandwich and fries while he told her about his brother and she very nearly had Dean in such a trance that he almost told her everything about everything. At the end of their date, she kissed Dean’s cheek and told him to take her back to work. When they got to the tattoo parlor, she took his hand and dragged him back to her office, sat him down and asked what he wanted.

“My—the lyrics to Hey Jude. I want it around my ankle.”

“Good choice. Shouldn’t take too long.”

When she was done, Dean cried. He tried to hide his tears from her and failed. He told her it was because of the pain. Really, it was because he was thinking about his mom. Lisa hugged him like she knew he was lying, and then she kissed him on the cheek again as he was leaving.

At that time, if Dean thought himself capable of being in a relationship with anyone, it would have been Lisa Braeden.

It had been a year or so since he had seen her, but she barely even flinched when he showed up on her doorstep half out of his mind with grief and asked if she had a spare room. The kid thought he was cool and kept asking why Dean slept in the guest bedroom. Kept asking why Dean and his mom weren’t together together. Lisa’s answer was the same every time.

“We’re just friends, Ben, and Dean needs a place to stay for now. Just because we’re adults doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to have friends anymore.”

After the third time, though, Lisa cornered Dean in the hallway and asked, “Why are we just friends?”

“I, uh, I don’t date.”

“Ever?”

Dean just shook his head.

Lisa shrugged, and that was that.

She was visibly disappointed when Dean announced that he had found an apartment, and they actually kissed (on the lips) goodbye when he moved out. They still get lunch once a week, and Dean comes over for dinner every few days. She’s given him two or three free tattoos. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever actually come out to her. If he’ll ever actually say exactly why he doesn’t date. Why he can’t be with her. He wishes she would understand.

After four months, Dean stops praying to Cas.

After eight months, he stops trying to bring Sam back.

“You still have a crush on Cas.”

“What the fuck, dude?”

“I might be soulless, but I’m not blind. After all this time, you still…”

“All right, that’s enough. Can we move past this?”

Sam shrugs innocently. Dean will be damn happy when they get his soul back.

Dean tells him when Sam is a sophomore in high school.

He is forced to do it, actually. If it were up to him, he just never would talk about it at all.

But Sam gets in the car after school one day all stressed out and sweaty, and as Dean drives them back to their apartment, he asks what the hell is going on. It was rare during his teenage years for Sam to open up to Dean, but today was different. Unfortunately.

“What do you do when you like a girl, Dean?”

“I don’t like girls.” It comes out of his mouth before his brain can catch up and stop him.

“What? You’re gay?”

“No! I mean—no. I’m saying, you ever see me date anybody?”

Sam stares out of his window for several seconds before turning back to Dean and stating, “No. I…didn’t even notice.”

“I just don’t really—I don’t like people like that. In that way, or whatever. So I don’t know if I’m going to be much help at all in whatever situation you’re in, but you can go ahead and tell me about this chick if you want.”

“No, it’s—it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Sam mumbles.

Dean hits him across the chest. “Don’t be weird about this, OK? Tell me what you were going to tell me, or I’ll tell Dad.”

“OK, fine. I like one of my friends, and I don’t know what to do about it. There.”

“You have friends? We’ve only been here for like three weeks, dude.”

“Yeah, so? I’m allowed to have friends. Or do you not understand that concept either?”

Dean turns a cold look on his brother. Sam immediately apologizes.

“Do you think it’s worth it for me to ask her out if we’re just going to be leaving in a couple months?”

“Honestly? I think you should wait until you can at least drive. What are you going to do, sit in the back seat with her while I drive you to Ben & Jerry’s? I’ve never been on a date, and even I know that’s uncool.”

“What’s going to be the difference when I can drive? It’s not like you’re going to let me drive this car anyway.”

Dean strokes the steering wheel proudly. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Looks like you’re stuck being single, Sammy. Life’s a bitch.”

When Dean learned the word asexual, he told Sam immediately. Sam said, “I know.” Turns out he had looked it up and never told Dean because “I didn’t want to interrupt your personal journey, or I thought you might’ve already known and weren’t comfortable with it yet.” Dean sometimes wonders if Sam didn’t date until he got to college because he didn’t want Dean to feel different and alone. He’s too afraid to ask because he’s 100 percent sure it’s true, but he can’t bear to hear his little brother say it.

For almost an entire year, the only time Sam and Dean can get a hold of Cas is if they really need him for something. Half the time they have to lie to get him to fly his ass down.

It’s not that Dean is jealous of heaven, it’s just that he’s—OK, yeah, he’s jealous of heaven. Cas is fighting some big war and probably leading armies and shit, and he doesn’t say a word about it other than letting Sam and Dean know how big of an inconvenience they are to him.

So when Cas betrays them, lies to them, becomes God and fucks over the entire world, Dean feels numb.

Did he even know Cas at all?

It’s too soon.

It’s—

Dean is sick of watching people die.

It might’ve been easier if Cas had just—if he had stayed bad. If he had died still on his awful God trip. Instead, he dies with his hands raised in surrender. He dies after begging Dean for forgiveness, promising that he will redeem himself to Dean and Dean only.

Dean is sick of watching people he cares about die.

When Dean is 14, something happens that makes them slow down for a while. Dean doesn’t know what it was, but it must’ve been big for his dad to quit hunting. They rent out a two-bedroom apartment in Seattle, and Dad is actually home with them most of the time. They go to school and have friends, and for a while Dean thinks they might just stay forever.

His best friend at school is a boy in his English class named Aaron. Aaron is funny and easy-tempered, and by the third week of school he and Dean are hanging out behind the bleachers smoking joints together. They talk about videogames and other kids in their classes, teachers they hate and what they plan on doing over the weekend. When Dean mentions Sam, Aaron immediately asks if he can come over and meet him.

“Really? You want to meet my kid brother?” Dean asks skeptically, but also hopefully.

“Yeah, he sounds awesome. I don’t have any siblings.”

And that’s how Dean finds out that Aaron is (currently) the only child in a single parent foster home. His foster mom loves him, but he said it definitely gets lonely sometimes.

To this day, Dean thinks he liked Aaron because he wanted to take care of him. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t alone, that he had somebody to smoke with after school, had somebody to go see shitty movies with on the weekends. He didn’t necessarily want anything more than that, but it was still a bit more intense than friendship. Dean had never had a crush before, but he definitely had a crush on Aaron Bass. He didn’t even know he liked guys at the time. He didn’t know he liked anybody at all.

In November, Aaron and Dean steal a bottle of vodka from his foster mom’s liquor cabinet and go to an abandoned park to get drunk and high. It’s 3 in the goddamn morning when Aaron blurts out, “You know what we should do? We should get matching tattoos.”

Dean is just cross-buzzed enough at age 14 to think that sounds like an excellent idea. And it still seems like a good idea when he wakes up hung-over on the floor of Aaron’s room the next morning, and Aaron kicks him and tells him to get moving because “I made an appointment at the tattoo joint down the street. They don’t care if you’re underage.”

So Dean got his first crush. And his first tattoo. It’s of Godzilla destroying a small city, right in the middle of the back of his left calf. Aaron got King Kong on the Empire State Building on his right calf. That was the day Dean effectively stopped wearing shorts because he really did not want to deal with the wrath of his father.

They move in December. Dean hasn’t seen or talked to Aaron since.

It’s still one of his favorite tattoos he has.

Dean doesn’t understand why people bother with sex when food and alcohol exist.

Food was his first vice, the first thing he discovered just solely for himself and for no other reason than it pleased him. First selfish thing he ever did.

Alcohol is another story entirely. It’s always been less about the pleasure of it and more about the numbness. Dean knows he’s an alcoholic, there’s no use kidding himself about that.

Food and alcohol. The only two things Dean indulges in entirely out of selfish means.

Dean's on his fourth drink when Sam comes back from his morning run.

“What are you doing?”

“Celebrating,” Dean says as he grabs a glass from across the table to make Sam a drink.

“Celebrating? Celebrating what exactly?” Sam doesn’t take the drink.

“The world didn’t end, Sammy. Cas didn’t ruin everything, and now we don’t have to worry about him anymore. Sure, there’s Levia-whatever spreading all over the world and we haven’t got a clue how to kill them, but hey, small victories.”

“Dean—”

“Sam! Don’t.”

“Just—all right. Celebrate all you want.” Sam walks out without waiting for a response.

There have been a handful of times in Dean’s life when he’s felt suicidal. The feeling of emptiness, of having nothing to live for, of wondering why the hell it even matters to keep putting the effort into breathing anymore—hell might have been bad, but feeling suicidal is worse.

He doesn’t want to put the burden on his brother to give him a reason to live, but then again he’s not sure he can handle putting the burden on himself either.

One foot in front of the other.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Eat food.

Drink alcohol.

Don’t think about Cas.

Dean should probably figure out what it means that his life is so wrapped up in his brother that generally speaking he only seeks the attention of others when Sam isn’t around. Not that Dean would ever blame his brother for how romantically and sexually broken he feels. That would be ridiculous.

In his early 20s, Dean meets Cassie Robinson during a hunt and asks her on a date immediately. He’s not sure why he does it, but he likes to blame how welcoming her smile is. It isn’t anything special, but the date goes well and he’s dropping her off and when she asks if he wants to come inside, he says yes before he can even think. It’s like she cast a spell on him or something.

“Uh, Cassie, I don’t want to—don’t get the wrong idea here.”

She laughs as she sits on her couch and pats the cushion for Dean to join her. “What do you mean?”

“I, uh, I’m probably not going to be in town very long.”

“That’s OK. We just met, Dean.”

“Yeah. Yeah, OK. Can we, um, not have sex tonight?”

Cassie doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course. I didn’t ask you in for that anyway. I just wanted to keep talking to you.”

And they do. They talk for hours until finally Dean gets so sleepy that he lets slip that he and his dad are on a case to track down a ghost.

It’s too late to back out. Once he starts telling her things, he can’t stop. When she gets pissed and yells at him to get out, he thinks it’s over. He would be leaving in a couple of days anyway.

That is, until the case gets a lot more complicated and his dad tells him to book at least a week or two in the motel. Cassie calls on the third day and apologizes for overreacting. Dean apologizes for dropping all of his crazy on her. He promises he would prove all of it to her if he could.

After their second date, they alternate between kissing and talking on Cassie’s couch.

After their third, it’s just kissing.

After their fourth, Dean thinks it wise to try to sleep with her. He reasons that he needs to act as normal as possible since he already dumped enough weird on her for a lifetime. The least he owes her is a coherent series of steps for the beginnings of a relationship.

So he kisses his way into her house and into her room, and she knows exactly what to do and he acts like he does, too. He even helps her out of her clothes, which is actually really hot. But when he gets to the part where he’s supposed to do something, he panics and ends up kissing her for way too long (40-Year-Old-Virgin style). Instead of asking what’s wrong, Cassie takes matters into her own hands and strips Dean down to his boxers. She ‘s reaching for the waistband when—

“Wait, stop.” He’s calm, surprisingly sounding more disappointed than alarmed.

Cassie immediately sits up and scoots back against the headboard. “You don’t do this often, do you?”

“I don’t do this at all.”

“You’re…a virgin?”

God, that word always makes Dean feel so small. All he can do is nod.

“Do you want to sleep with me, Dean?”

“Not really,” he mumbles.

“Oh, uh, that’s OK,” she answers awkwardly.

“No! I mean, it’s not you. I just—it’s just, I don’t sleep with anybody. I never really…”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to. Are you uncomfortable right now?”

Dean glances down at her bare breasts and then back up at her face. “No,” he answers honestly.

She actually laughs at that. “So you like looking, maybe even touching, but just not…doing?”

“I—I guess. Right now, yeah.”

“Well then, come here.”

Physically speaking, that’s the closest to anybody Dean has ever been. Cassie lets him touch her wherever he wants, and he even lets go enough to kiss and lick all down her abdomen, up her arms, across her back. They stop and giggle like fucking children, talk about nothing while Dean rests his head on her stomach, and then they start kissing all over again. Cassie returns the favor, too. It’s strange at first having someone’s hands and lips seemingly all over his naked body, but once he relaxes it feels pretty fucking awesome. With the tips of her fingers she traces the Michelangelo on his left arm—Jesus holding up the cross, people being taken into heaven while other souls are dragged down to hell on Judgment Day. With her tongue she kisses along the Winchester rifle that extends from his right hip all the way up under his armpit. She asks about the symbols lining his ribs and the Vonnegut quote over his right pec—Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile.

Definitely one of the best nights of his life, and he doesn’t even panic the next morning when he wakes up with Cassie curled up under his arm.

“You got to find something to live for, son. I don’t care if it’s love or taking care of your brother or whatever—I ain’t going to your funeral. I swear, Dean, if you die before me, I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m not dying, Bobby.”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t living either. What is it with you?”

Dean keeps drinking his coffee and doesn’t answer.

“It’s not the damn angel, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, I’ve seen you go all starry-eyed over maybe two people in your life, and he was one of them. I don’t think how you’re acting now’s a coincidence.”

“I’m OK, Bobby, I swear. Me and Cas? There was nothing going on between us, all right? I’m fine.”

Bobby stares out the windshield and doesn’t say anything for a while. Dean hates stakeouts.

“Who was it that broke your heart?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You don’t talk much about your—dating history or whatever, so I’m just wondering. Who was it that made you all closed-off and brooding?”

It doesn’t really feel like the right moment to come out to Bobby, but then again he did just give Dean a good reason.

“It wasn’t anybody. It’s just how I am.”

“What?”

Dean laughs and drops his head back against the seat. “Jesus, it’s going to sound so stupid.”

“What? Spit it out, boy. I ain’t getting any younger.”

“You ever heard of asexuality?”

“Like where you…”

“Aren’t sexually attracted to people, yeah. I don’t really have much of a sex drive either, but the doc says I’m fine. You going to make a big deal out of this?”

“That stops you from dating? You think you got to have sex to be in a relationship?”

“All right, say I like Cas. You really think feather ball gives a rat’s ass about sex? Or even knows how to have it in the first place?”

“Good point.” Bobby adjusts in his seat and takes a sip of coffee. “So you just don’t like people then?”

“Let’s just say if I tried to quit—if I really tried the whole apple pie life thing, a relationship would have to find me before I go seek it out. Are we done talking about this now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“I prefer complex and mysterious.”

“Yeah, yeah, 007. I’m just glad I finally know it’s not some anti-romantic stick up your ass.”

In less than 48 hours, Bobby will die. Dean loves so few people. It would be great if they would stop dying.

After the funeral, he adds Bobby’s name and birth and death date to the list inked on a scroll down his spine.

“I seem to be able to help to some extent. What’s your problem?”

Sam. Sam of course is the first problem. Sam’s the priority. But…you. You are my problem.

When Dean met Cas, they were both machines. They both served a purpose, completed a valuable function—but underneath duty there was nothing. No desires of their own, no identity.

Now Dean is standing in front of Emmanuel while his brother’s in the hospital, and he’s wondering how the hell they ended up here. What do you even say to someone who has no memory of who you are? What do you say to someone who doesn’t know who they are? Do you remind them? Would that ruin everything?

They are machines no longer. There is something very human in the way Castiel carries himself, and as for Dean? Well, he hasn’t wanted anything in the past year but to die. And now here he is, standing in front of his friend and wanting more than he’s wanted in a very long time.

But he can’t be selfish right now. Sammy needs him.

“My brother. He’s, uh, sick.”

“What’s his diagnosis?”

“It’s not medical.”

“That’s OK, I can help with illnesses of a spiritual origin as well.”

“Spiritual? OK. Someone did this to him.”

“You’re angry.”

“Well, yeah. Dude broke my brother’s head.”

“He betrayed you, this dude. He was your friend?”

Something like that. “Yeah, well, he’s gone.”

“Did you kill him? I sense that you kill a lot of people.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if he is dead. You know, I used to be able to just shake this stuff off. Whatever it was. It might’ve taken me some time, but…I always could. What Cas did…I just can’t—I don’t know why.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter why.”

“Of course it matters.”

“No. You’re not a machine, Dean. You’re human.”

Human. Yeah.

Dean doesn’t say anything when he gives Cas the trench coat. Cas gives him a look like he might understand what’s going on, but he doesn’t say anything either. They’ve never been very good at speaking when it matters.

It’s a strange sort of disappointment when Cas takes on Sam’s mental anguish and insists on being left at the hospital. On the one hand, Dean is glad to have his brother back and healthy. On the other hand, he was just warming up to the idea that Cas is alive. He barely had any time at all to mourn Sam; he’s been mourning Cas for the better part of a year.

“Are you OK leaving him there with Meg?” Sam asks on the car ride back to Rufus’ cabin.

“No.”

“He’s going to be all right, Dean.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No. But I’ll pray for him all I can.”

“If we attack Dick and fail, then you and Sam die heroically, correct?”

“I don't know. I guess.”

“And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or...I don't die. I'm brought back again. I see now. It's a punishment resurrection. It's worse every time.”

“I'm sorry. Uh, we're talking about God crap, right?”

“I'm not good luck, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench...Sorry, but I'd rather have you, cursed or not. And anyway, nut up, all right? We're all cursed. I seem like good luck to you?”

Cas stares at him with a goofy grin on his face. It’s the most lucid he’s been lately.

“What?”

“Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I detect a note of forgiveness.”

“Yeah, well, I'm probably going to die tomorrow, so...”

“Well, I'll go with you. And I'll do my best.”

They do die. Kind of.

It doesn’t really feel like dying, but it’s definitely something. Like being on another planet or in another dimension or something. Purgatory is hot and sticky and everything is a little bit blurry and surreal.

Cas disappears.

Dean never meant to cover the majority of his skin in ink. There are definitely better ways to spend money he doesn’t have, and it definitely makes dressing for the job difficult when he’s pretending to be an FBI agent or something.

But after the Godzilla one…He spends two years staring at it before finally deciding to get another. It’s dumb—his and Sam’s initials scrawled in their handwriting on his left thigh. He gets it done at a pretty shady place, and then the infection happens and it hurts like hell for weeks. He never even told Sam about it.

He thought he was done after that. Two was plenty. Two was enough.

But then he falls in love with Vonnegut at 18 and gets the quote on his pec without even thinking about it.

By the time he’s 22, he has sleeves on both arms and most of his abdomen covered. He still tries to tell himself he’s not addicted.

He’s on a case with his dad when they meet a kid who won’t talk. The kid is key to the investigation—he’s the only witness of a witch planting a hex bag to kill his mom.

Dean tries. He tries so hard to talk to him, to get him to open up. But the kid just won’t budge.

Just as Dean is about to give up, he rolls up his sleeves in frustration, and the kid finally acknowledges him. He acknowledges him by pointing at his forearm.

“What? Oh. It’s artwork—done by a guy named Michelangelo.” Dean awkwardly rolls his sleeve up further and begins to explain the image.

The kid comes closer and pats Dean’s arm a few times before poking his way around the image and smiling brightly. After several minutes, he looks up at Dean and asks, “Do you have anymore?”

Dean gets nine more tattoos in that year alone.

“You know we don’t have to do this, brother.”

“How many times are we going to have this conversation? You really think my answer’s going to change?”

“I’m just trying to be realistic, Dean. Maybe…”

“Spit it out already.”

“Maybe we haven’t found the angel ‘cause he don’t want to be found.”

“Benny.”

“I just—”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

It’s true. Cas doesn’t want to be found. It took Dean about a week’s worth of prayers to figure that out.

Where’d you go, Cas?

Where are you, man?

I’m looking everywhere for you, Cas. I need you here. I need—we need to find a way out. We’re going to find a way out, and I’m taking you with me.

Are you hearing me at all, Cas? I’m not leaving here without you. I won’t.

Cas, please. Please tell me where you are. I’ll find you. I’ll find you, and we can go home. Let’s go home, buddy.

Meeting Benny was dumb luck. Dean likes him. But…he’s a replacement for Sam. Just like everybody else.

Not only that, but Dean’s dragging Benny up and down purgatory just to find an angel that doesn’t even want to see him. Dean doesn’t deserve Benny’s friendship at all.

“That’s him. That’s him—down there by the river, that’s him. Benny, that’s him.”

“Well, go get him. Geez, you need permission or something?”

It’s probably only been a couple of months, but it feels like years. Dean doesn’t know why he does it when he wraps Cas up in his arms. He rarely hugs anybody other than his brother. Something about purgatory, man.

“We’re going to get out, Cas. We’re going home.”

Cas follows them, but only reluctantly. Dean ignores it.

I prayed to you, Cas! Every night!

It’s a little embarrassing. Dean doesn’t even let himself show much emotion around Cas even in front of Sam, nonetheless this random vampire. Benny and Cas don’t get along, and sometimes it feels like…Well, it feels like they’re both fighting over Dean. Or maybe Dean’s just being arrogant. Either way, Team Get-Out-Of-Purgatory is high tension, high stakes, low tolerance.

But then…

Cas doesn’t need to sleep, so it’s actually really useful to have him around to keep watch while Dean and Benny get some rest. Angel watching over them and everything.

But one night, Dean wakes up from a nightmare and Cas is right there crouching next to him with a hand to his shoulder and another to his thigh asking, “Dean? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um, I’m OK. Just—just a nightmare.”

Cas removes his hands from Dean. “I can stay here until you fall back asleep.”

Dean looks over to Benny to make sure he’s out before answering, “Yeah. Can I, uh…?” He makes a vague hand motion, and shockingly Cas understands.

And that’s how Dean ends up cradled against Cas’ chest for an entire night in purgatory.

Best night of sleep he’s gotten in a long time.

“You saw him die?”

“I saw enough.”

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t he…?”

“I don’t know.”

Purgatory purified Dean in a way that nothing else ever has. He feels like he’s paid for his sins, like he’s completely clean. Blank slate.

Except for the small issue of failing to get Cas out. He tried. He tried so hard, and for some reason it just didn’t work.

When he wakes up screaming Cas’ name, the whites of Cas’ eyes still seared in his brain from his nightmare, he thinks back to that night.

Dean? Are you all right?

Cas is never there when he wakes up anymore. He’s never there to help him fall back asleep. Dean starts drinking again. First scratch on the slate.

Cas! C’mon, take my hand! Hang on, I got you! I got you, Cas!

Angels were never meant to be a piece on the game board.

Everything was supposed to be black and white, and anything that didn’t fit in one of those categories just didn’t matter. Probably why Dean has spent most of his life ignoring his sexuality.

When Castiel busted through the doors of that barn in Pontiac and flashed the shadow of his wings on the back wall, Dean knew nothing would ever be the same again. He’s met dozens of angels now, and he’s still not sure he understands them completely. That’s when he started to see things in gray.

Angels don’t conform to human standards. They don’t care about gender or sexual orientation or even less complicated things like food and clothing. Some of them are robotic, some of them are incredibly too human. (Cas is in between.) It took Dean only a few months to conclude that if nothing else, angels are at the very least asexual.

“Well, yeah, Dean, their true vessels probably don’t have the…necessary parts,” Sam had reasoned.

“So you think, like—Cas doesn’t eat or sleep, right? And he never changes, so chances are he doesn’t shower or shave or anything either. Which means, logically speaking…”

“He doesn’t get aroused, yeah. Makes sense.”

They were quiet for a while, and then Dean deadpanned, “Sammy, do you think I’m an angel?”

“Sure, Dean. Just stop eating and sleeping and see what happens.”

“Do you think angels are capable and just don’t know? Like, if they ate something, would they like it?”

“I think you should ask Cas.”

Dean didn’t ask Cas.

Not because he was afraid to, but because he meets Anna just a week later.

She isn’t technically an angel when they meet. She had been born a human just like anybody else, with no grace or anything. But then she started to remember everything. She remembered everything about being an angel, and one of the first things she said was, “A lot of things make sense now.”

Later, when Dean is trying not to freak out about the fact that they have to turn Anna over to the angels, she comes to him all calm and self-assured like she isn’t worried about what’s going to happen to her.

“You know, it’s our last night on earth.”

“Oh hey, let’s not talk like that, all right? There’s still—”

“That’s not what I meant, Dean,” Anna says softly as she moves closer to him.

“What…do you want to…”

Anna relaxes and steps back. “It’s a pick-up line, Dean.”

“Oh! Oh, um, I…”

“You don’t do this often, do you?”

Dean shakes his head and smiles shyly. How many times is he going to have to deal with that question?

“I’m sorry.” Anna sighs and rubs her eyes. “It’s just…I remember what it’s like to be an angel. It sucks. I wanted to have one night of fun before it’s—it’s not fun anymore.”

“Do you mean, like—do angels not ever have sex?”

“This is really a mood killer.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says with a laugh. “I’ve been curious about it for a while now. Do you guys just not have sex drives or something?”

“Pretty much. There are some angels that ‘figure it out’ when they’re in a human vessel, but our true vessels don’t really have a setting for it.”

“So when you became human…?”

“Middle class white heterosexual girl, yep. Pretty generic.”

“Do you think—you think that would happen to all angels who fell?”

Anna stares hard at Dean. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“I don’t…I can relate to angels. How they feel about all—that.”

She steps forward and places her hand on Dean’s cheek. “It’s OK, Dean. Everybody’s different. Doesn’t mean you’re not fully human.”

“Do you—I mean—I can have sex with you if you want. If that’s really what you want to do your last night on earth.”

Anna chuckles and leans forward to kiss Dean on the cheek. “You don’t have to do that for me, Dean.”

Angels don’t have the required parts. Angels don’t really care even when they do have the required parts. Angels are, by nature, asexual.

Fucking awesome.

Even at his lowest, at his drunkest, at his most suicidal, Dean has never hallucinated.

But when he starts seeing Cas…there’s no other explanation. It’s grief-induced, obviously.

Sam finds him one night staring idly out the window at the storm. He doesn’t even ask what’s going on.

“You should go to bed,” Sam says groggily.

“I—I know. I just—I thought I saw something.”

Sam claps him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I know you did. It’s not your fault, OK? You did your best.”

When Dean got back from purgatory, he wasn’t exactly the kindest to Sam he could’ve been. He certainly doesn’t deserve his brother’s sympathy now. But then again, Sam knows him better than anyone. Sam knows that Dean’s taking out all of his shit on him, and he’s probably already forgiven him for it.

“I wish he had just tried harder. Why didn’t he try harder?”

“C’mon. You need some sleep.”

Dean doesn’t sleep. The next morning, he’s washing his face in the bathroom while Sam shouts at him about some case or other when Cas appears right there in the mirror.

Real. Cas is real.

“Whoa, Cas, hey, buddy.”

“Cas?” Sam calls from the main room, but Dean is preoccupied trying to keep the angel on his feet.

“Yeah, Sam! I got him, we’ll be out in a second!”

It’s not until after Dean slams the bathroom door shut that he realizes how this situation would look if either Dean or Cas was interested in sex. Dean hopes his brother doesn’t tease them too much about it.

“How the hell are you here, Cas?” Dean asks quietly as he takes Cas’ coat off for him and sits him on the lid of the toilet.

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to—reach you for a while. For some reason I’m not at full power.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Can you lift your arms?”

Cas obeys halfheartedly, and Dean pulls his hospital scrub shirt off.

“You want to shave or not?”

Cas nods and touches his beard.

“All right, hold still for me.”

They don’t talk while Dean takes the straight razor to his face. Cas closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, and Dean swears the angel hums once or twice in between passes. At one point Dean accidentally rests his free hand on Cas’ thigh, and Cas’ hand immediately comes down to cover it. Dean thinks about saying something or moving his hand away or something, but instead he just lets it happen. No use pretending.

“You need a shower, dude,” Dean announces as he takes a towel to Cas’ face. “Please tell me you don’t need my help with that.”

A smile quirks at Cas’ lips. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Dean.”

“Uh, I’m going to—I’ll bring in some clothes for you to wear so you don’t look like you’re in an OR anymore. See if I got any blue ties lying around.”

“That would be nice.”

When Dean emerges from the bathroom, Sam is staring at him like he needed an explanation five minutes ago.

“What?” Dean asks as he rifles through his duffel bag in search of a black suit that’ll fit Cas.

“So he’s back?”

“Yeah. No clue how.”

“You’re suspicious.”

“Of course I’m fucking suspicious. How the hell did he get out? I was there, Sam. I remember the whole thing.”

Sam shifts in his chair. “Well, are you happy he’s back?”

“You serious? I’m ecstatic. That—that doesn’t mean I’m just going to trust him blindly, though.”

Ten minutes later, Cas comes out of the bathroom looking like his old self. Dean’s heart hits the floor. He missed him so goddamn much.

“I did everything I could to get you out! Everything! I did not leave you.”

“Is that what you think happened?”

In the blink of an eye, Dean is taken back. He’s in purgatory again and he’s being sucked into the portal and his arm is throbbing where Benny’s soul is latched to it and—

And Cas is letting go of Dean’s hand. Cas is pushing Dean away and commanding that he go. Cas is choosing to stay in purgatory.

“You could not save me because I didn’t want to leave, Dean. I needed to pay my penance. I deserved to be there.”

“You deserved to be here! With—with me. Why did you…you didn’t want to…”

Cas places his hand on Dean’s shoulder and moves his thumb back and forth over the fabric of his coat. “I am happy to be here, Dean. I did not mean to abandon you. Please understand me.”

Dean barely understands. Maybe he will one day. But today, he is desperate to feel wanted, and so he crosses his arm over so he can squeeze Cas’ hand that still rests on his shoulder. They silently part from one another.

Dean is on his knees on the cold concrete floor of an old crypt.

He can’t see out of his left eye, and his vision is blurry in his right.

His face is numb. His jaw is broken. His nose, too. The one broken bone he can actually feel, though, is his forearm.

The only clear thing is the blue in Cas’ eyes, staring down at him with no recognition, no sign of Cas anywhere in them.

Dean has been here before, with his brother. All he knew how to do then was to beg, and that’s all he knows to do now. So he begs.

“Cas…This isn’t you. This isn’t you. Cas. I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. Cas. It’s me. We’re family. We need you. I need you.”

He hears the sound of metal clinking against the floor. Cas’ hand reaches out, and Dean continues to beg incoherently. This is it. He’s about to die.

I need you, I need you, I need you.

Sensation returns to his face, but it’s not pain. He’s healed.

“Cas.”

He doesn’t know why he does it. Adrenaline, maybe. Something like that launches him to his feet and sends him pushing Cas into the nearest wall so he can kiss the shit out of him. Cas gasps, Dean moans—they kiss until their lips are bright red and their faces flushed, and then they kiss some more.

“What just happened?” Dean asks against Cas’ mouth, in between ragged breaths.

“Naomi…An angel—she’s been controlling me. But now she has no power.”

“What broke the connection?”

“You.”

He says it so easily, with such conviction, that it takes Dean a moment to come back online when Cas immediately starts kissing him again.

“Cas—we—should—go,” Dean manages to get out between kisses.

Cas responds by grabbing the back of his neck and giving him one final, fierce kiss for several amazing seconds. Then he pulls back abruptly and concedes, “Yeah,” before going to grab the angel tablet off the floor.

“I have to protect this tablet now.”

“From Naomi?”

“Yes. And from you.”

“From me? What are you talking about?”

Cas disappears.

He contemplates not telling Sam about it. It wouldn’t be the first time he chooses to withhold information from his brother about his nonexistent love life. But something about how close the three of them are and how they’ve been through so much together, it just doesn’t feel right not to tell him.

“Cas and I kissed.”

He says it when they’re an hour away from the bunker, the sun beating down through the windshield as they fly down the highway. They haven’t said anything to each other since their last rest stop 40 miles ago.

“It’s about time.”

“What?”

“You heard me. It happened right before he disappeared, right?”

“How the fuck do you—”

“I know you better than anybody, Dean. Other than him disappearing immediately, how did it go?”

Dean grips the steering wheel harder. It’s been a week, and he’s still pissed about Cas flying off. “I’m not sure. I think it was an adrenaline thing for both of us. Like it was the only thing that made sense under the circumstances.”

“Yeah, sure, because making out with your best friend after he’s just nearly killed you while under mind control is totally logical.”

“Well, you’re—logical.”

“So it was good though?”

“Yeah. It was awesome.” Dean clears his throat and continues in an octave lower, “But nothing’s going to come of it. I mean, I don’t even know where the fuck he is or when he’s coming back. We probably won’t ever even talk about it.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“Yeah, well. When have Cas and I ever carried out a good idea?”

“Yeah, good point. Still, I think it’s great. And I think you should pursue him.”

Dean scoffs at that. “I should pursue him? What, are we in a fucking Jane Austen novel now?”

“No. There’s not nearly enough sex for you to be in a Jane Austen novel.”

“But there’s barely any mention of se—”

“Exactly.”

The next time Dean sees Cas, it’s in the middle of the fucking highway—Dean slamming on the brakes and Cas’ battered face catching in the headlights.

Dean’s first thought is not, is he OK? but, what the hell did he do this time?

“A little help here?” Cas asks bluntly.

Grievances forgotten for the moment, Dean rushes to his side and scoops him up to carry him to the car. Sam’s not much help, what with the trials taking a huge physical toll and probably on their way to killing him. It’s a quiet drive back as Dean contemplates how he’s going to take care of both of them. Especially considering he’s pissed as hell at Cas.

When they get to the bunker, Cas is capable of walking as long as Dean holds him up. About halfway to Dean’s room, though, Cas starts to stumble so Dean picks him up again. Cas clings to him like a child, his legs and arms wrapped around Dean’s body so they’re flush against each other. It’s actually difficult to let go when he lays him down in his own bed.

“Dean.”

“You OK, Cas? I’ll bring you some towels to clean the blood.” Dean is turning to walk out of the room when Cas grabs his wrist to hold him in place.

“Dean, please.”

He takes a deep breath and stares down at his angel. “You’re a mess. I’ll help you clean up.”

Again, they sit in silence. Dean helps Cas remove his clothes down to his boxers, and then he spends the next half hour cleaning up the blood and tending to Cas’ wounds. It’s pretty damn messy, but Dean’s seen worse. Cas falls asleep before he finishes.

“Night, Cas,” Dean concludes with a kiss to his forehead. “Guess I’m sleeping on the couch,” he mumbles to himself.

In the morning, he’s not as forgiving. He has Sammy to take care of, and he may or may not have stayed up all night thinking about all the shit Cas has done recently. Disappearing on him, taking the angel tablet, losing the angel tablet, not coming to Dean for help goddamn it—

He gives Cas the silent treatment. Conflict resolution isn’t really his thing anyway.

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

“Everything? Like, uh, ignoring us? Leaving me in that crypt right after we’d—or like bolting off with the angel tablet, then losing it because you didn’t trust me? You didn’t trust me.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Nah, that’s not going to cut it. Not this time. So you can take your little apology and cram it up your ass.”

“Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah. You always do.”

Later, when they’re away from Cas, Sam asks Dean to lighten up. Dean freaks out, asks why the fuck he should give Cas a pass when they would’ve killed anybody else by this point. Of course he already knows the answer before Sam says it.

“Because it’s Cas.”

Because you kissed him. Because you feel something for him that you’ve never felt for anybody. Because despite everything, he is still by your side.

Because you love him.

Sam insists that Dean let him finish the last trial—curing a demon—on his own. Dean doesn’t like this, doesn’t like it at all, but then Cas asks for his help boarding up heaven and that sounds like an excellent distraction.

Except.

Everything goes very wrong very fast.

Naomi shows up and tells Dean and Cas that Metatron is lying, that he’s actually trying to get the angels out of heaven. They don’t want to believe her, of course they don’t, but then Cas disappears and Dean has no choice but to go back to Sam.

Sam. Who is very nearly on the edge of death when Dean finds him. And when Dean mentions it, Sam just says, “So?”

No. No, no, no. Sammy was supposed to be the one with faith. Sammy was supposed to be the one who could carry Dean through to a happy ending. Dean can’t do it without Sammy.

Don’t think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put ahead of you.

He doesn’t complete the trial. Even still, he passes out before Dean can get him into the Impala. He passes out, and then there are angels falling from the sky, and Dean yells Castiel’s name until his throat is sore, but nothing. No response. No response.

The doc says Sammy probably won’t wake up.

Sam was the one who had hope.

Sam was the one who saw a light at the end of this tunnel.

Sam can’t die.

If Sam dies—

Sam can’t die.

When Ezekiel is the first one to show up at the hospital, Dean readily agrees for him to help his brother. It’s a dick move, yeah. But it’s not like it’s the worst thing Dean’s ever done. Sam doesn’t have to find out. He just…Dean just wants his brother alive. He needs him to know that his life is worth something.

He needs that hope back, the hope that both of their lives are worth something.

Cas calls and tells Dean that Metatron lied, that there was a spell to close heaven and he took Cas’ grace to do it. Dean panics, tells Cas to haul ass to the bunker and don’t get caught by any angels.

Human. Cas is human. Cas can die. Dean feels his world closing in around him.

There was a time, during the apocalypse, when Dean was happy to be away from his brother. Their relationship was so strained, so fucking forced, that it made sense to split up. It was healthy for them to split up. What Dean didn’t expect, however, was to have a really awesome time with Cas.

He showed up at Dean’s motel room unannounced, standing way too close and making Dean’s heart jump a little. They were trying to find Raphael, and Cas was convinced they were both going to die.

So when Dean asked what his plans were for his last night on earth, Cas just said, “I thought I’d sit here quietly.”

“Dude, c’mon, anything? Booze, women…?”

Cas didn’t answer, and that was just totally helpful. Dean thought he might be gay. Or maybe Jimmy Novak was gay. Whatever.

“So, uh, you’ve never done any…you haven’t—you know—like…”

“Dean, are you asking me if I have had sexual intercourse before?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”

“There was no…occasion for it in heaven.”

“So you—do—do you want to?”

Cas squinted hard at him. “Dean, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think we should—”

“Whoa! Hey, not with me! Uh, no, that’s not…I mean, would you? If I wanted to, which I don’t!”

“I’m not sure I understand where this conversation is going.”

“Forget it. Um. Just—let’s go to a bar, all right?”

They got wildly drunk that night. The happy, flirty, loud kind of drunk. The bartender seemed mildly suspicious at how much alcohol Cas could handle, but she quickly realized that they weren’t going to cause any trouble. They just played pool with a few college kids (not even for money), made friends with half the people in the place, and generally stayed in close proximity to one another all night.

“Having a good time, Cas?” Dean slurred as he threw his arm over Cas’ shoulder and pulled his ear close to his mouth.

“I believe I am feeling something.”

Dean grinned and placed a sloppy kiss on Cas’ cheek. “You want to get a tattoo or something?”

“I don’t think that’s the wisest idea. But I would accompany you if you wanted to get one—another one.”

“C’mon, angel, let’s get out of here.” Dean downed his beer and pulled Cas out of the bar by his lapels.

He had every intention of finding somewhere that could ink him up on the spot. Instead, they walked and walked until they reached the outskirts of the city where there were no lights or cars or anything. When they got to an empty field overlooking a lake, Dean yanked on Cas’ sleeve and ran until he faceplanted into the grass, dragging Cas down with him. They lay next to each other and stared up at the stars and laughed like morons as they tried to pick out funny shapes in the constellations. They talked about nothing and everything at the same time. Dean remembers falling asleep with his head cradled on Cas’ arm, and when he woke up he was in bed alone. He never asked when or how Cas flew him back.

Dean misses it sometimes. He misses the days when everything was on the line and they were running for their lives 24/7. He misses how simple things were then. He and Sam got in a fight, so they split up. He and Cas were going to die, so they partied. The apocalypse was their fault, so they fought tooth and nail.

Things are complicated now. They’re all over the place and pulled in every direction and Dean doesn’t remember the last time he and Cas and Sam actually had fun.

Never in his life has he seriously considered retiring of his own free will. But…once Sam’s healed….and if Cas is human…

Why not try?

The next time Dean sees Cas, a reaper is shoving an angel blade into his chest, and there’s no light bursting out of his face. He dies human.

Which, actually, is extremely fortunate. If Cas had been stabbed with an angel blade as an angel, it would not have been possible for Ezekiel to bring him back to life. The relief is immediate when those big blue eyes look up at Dean. The only thing he can think is, We need to get him home to the bunker where he’ll be safe.

As usual, it’s a quiet ride home, but for some reason Dean feels nervous. Maybe excited? He really wants to know what Cas being human is like. He wants to know what Cas living in the bunker with them is going to be like.

“Cas, let me show you around,” Dean says once they’re inside, and Sam takes that as his cue to get out of the way.

“How are you feeling, man?” Dean asks as he shows Cas to the giant bathroom with the industrial showers.

“I’m fine.”

He stacks towels in Cas’ arms as he talks. “I mean, like, being human. You all right with it?”

“It has not been easy so far.”

“Well, you’re here now. Shower, clean up—we’ll get you some food later. I’m going to take care of you, all right?”

Cas nods shyly, almost somberly.

“Cas?”

He looks up in response.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Nothing.” He pauses and stares down at the towels in his hands. “It’s just…I was an angel. I was a warrior of the Lord. And now I…”

On instinct, Dean steps forward and rubs both hands down his arms reassuringly. “Hey, hey, shhh. You’re still you, all right? I still need you.”

Cas’ face pops back up at that, and then they just stand there looking at each other, only a few inches between them.

It’s Cas who leans forward and tentatively presses his lips against Dean’s. He pulls back immediately and stares some more, as if silently asking if it’s OK.

Dean licks his lips and asks, “What is it you want, Cas?”

“I—I don’t know. I just…know that I want to kiss you.”

Well, Dean really can’t argue with that. He wants to kiss Cas, too. So he does. He grabs his face and kisses him and Cas just leans forward more and continues hanging onto the towels trapped between their stomachs. After a couple minutes, Dean pulls back and rests his forehead against Cas’, his hands still cupping his face.

“Take a shower. Make yourself at home. I’m going to get burritos for dinner.”

“Mmk,” Cas mumbles with his eyes closed, his mouth blindly trying to reach for Dean’s.

Dean kisses him one more time and laughs as he steps away. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

When Dean makes it back up to the meeting room, Sam’s already on the phone ordering food from the Mexican place down the road. When he hangs up, he asks, “So?”

“So what?”

“You talk to Cas?”

He accidentally smiles. Like, one of those gross, cute, “I’m in love” kind of smiles.

“Oh my god, you guys kissed again.”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah.”

“All right, well that’s good, right? Did you talk about it?”

“We will. But yeah, I think it’s…good. It feels good. Oh god, please pretend I didn’t just say that.”

Sam’s laughing harder than Dean’s seen in a while. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you could actually be happy with someone.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so they look awkwardly at each other for a minute until Cas comes in and starts going on about the water pressure.

“There’s more to humanity than survival. You look for purpose, and you must not be defeated by anger or despair. Or hedonism, for that matter.”

“Where does hedonism come into it?” Dean asks, because what the fuck? Cas is supposed to be as clueless to hedonism as Dean is—if not more so.

“My time with April was very…educational.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’d think that getting killed is something,” Sam offers.

“And having sex.”

Dean chokes on air. He can feel Sam’s pitying eyes on the back of his neck. What did Cas just say?

“You had—you had sex with April?” Dean’s voice cracks, but he manages it.

Cas just stares back at him blankly like he doesn’t understand what the big deal is. Dean walks out of the room.

It’s childish, but he locks himself in his own room, flops on his bed and traces the sleeve on his right arm. He starts at the disembodied foot on his bicep, circles around the serpent whose head is being crushed under the foot, twirls his index finger around the busted skull on top of his forearm until all that’s left is the inscription on his hand, Genesis 3:15. Before he gets halfway down his left arm, there’s a knock on his door.

“What do you want?” he yells petulantly.

He’s expecting Sam. Instead, he gets Ezekiel.

“Castiel cannot stay here, Dean.”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“I mean that it is dangerous for him to be here. Every fallen angel is looking for him, and if he stays, then I must leave.”

“You coward.” It’s out of Dean’s mouth before he has time to think.

“Excuse me?”

“You think we—I can’t protect Cas here? I can’t take care of him?”

“Dean, as far as I can tell, you are angry with Castiel.”

“Yeah, well, when has that ever meant anything? Where you going to go if I say Cas stays?”

Ezekiel presses his mouth into a hard line and doesn’t respond.

“Cas stays.”

“Your brother will die.”

“Just—give me a minute, would you?”

Ezekiel leaves, and Dean mulls it over. Yeah, he is mad at Cas. And he sucks at handling being mad at Cas. He definitely doesn’t want Sam to die, and he has no idea how to convince Ezekiel to stay otherwise.

“Fine. I’ll tell Cas he has to go.”

Well. At least now he can pout in peace.

He finds Cas sitting in the library eating a burrito like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever tasted.

“Dean, I should—”

“Cas, you can’t stay here.”

Cas just stares up at him, his eyes all saucer-like and ridiculous.

“It’s not…Angels are after you, Cas. If you—we’re a spotlight already. We can’t bring a ton of angry fallen angels down on our heads and get trapped here. It’s…better if you stay on the move, stay undercover. You know?”

Cas doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Dean just sits there on the table trying to focus on the fact that Cas became human and the first thing he did was go have sex with a random stranger. A random possessed stranger for that matter. As long as he can stay focused on that, he can stay angry at Cas. He doesn’t have to feel guilty for the dejected, disappointed look on Cas’ face right now.

“Are you upset with me for having sex with April?”

That’s…not the question Dean expected. “What? No! No, I…You can do whatever you want, Cas. You just can’t stay here. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound like he’s sorry.

Cas doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t even let Dean give him some extra clothes and things to take with him. Doesn’t even let Dean drive him anywhere. He packs up and leaves within the hour, walking God knows how far to the nearest bus stop.

By the time he’s gone, Dean can’t even remember why he was mad at Cas in the first place.

“What’s going on, man?”

“The hell you talking about?”

“Yesterday you were all starry eyes and wedding bells, and now Cas is gone. You mind explaining to me why that is?”

Dean sighs and leans over the table. He knew Sam would ask eventually, but he really didn’t want to have this conversation. “It’s dangerous for Cas to be here.”

“What? With us? Pretty sure it’s more dangerous out there where he’s not protected, Dean.”

“If any angels come here looking for—”

“Please tell me you didn’t send him away just because he had sex with that reaper.”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“Dean, I want you to think about this.” Sam shifts in his chair to make his point clearer. “That woman brought Cas into her home because he needed a place to stay. You don’t think that maybe, just maybe, he felt like he owed her something in return? That he felt obligated to do whatever she wanted?”

No. No, he had not thought about that. “You saying…?”

“Talk to him about it. And bring him home, goddamn it.”

Rexburg, Idaho, is where everything changes.

“I’ll have some beef jerky and a pack of menthols.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Please, don’t act so happy to see me. You called about a case, remember?”

Cas is pissed. Rightfully so. But Dean came here to work, and he’s going to handle it with or without the angel. Of course, if he really, honestly felt that way he probably wouldn’t have driven 10 miles out of his way to find Cas at this gas station instead of just heading back to his motel. After all, he did just drive for 14 hours straight.

And he really, really wants Cas to come with him.

“Come on, Cas, you’re above this!”

“No, I’m not. I have no grace, no wings, I’m stuck in a miniscule human vessel seemingly for the rest of my extremely short life. And you kicked me out of the bunker.” He looks at Dean, blank coldness in his eyes, and Dean thinks there’s more of that “angel” still in him than he’s letting on.

“Cas, you know I—”

“I know. But I have to do this, Dean. I have to learn to live without—” He cuts himself off and continues organizing Twinkies.

“Without what? Without me?”

Cas looks at Dean, and that’s the only answer necessary.

Before Dean can say anything else, Cas’ boss shows up and asks if he’s still on for 7 tonight. Oh. So that’s what this is about. Great.

“I see why you need to stay here,” Dean states.

“What do you mean?”

“The girl. You’re doing this because of her.”

“No, Dean. It’s not. Nora is a very nice woman, and she’s asked me out on a date. Going on dates—that’s what humans do, right?”

The way he sounds so uncertain breaks Dean’s resolve. Having sex—that’s what humans do, right? Everything Cas is doing…he just wants to be normal. He wants to fit in.

“Sure, Cas. Yeah.”

They look at each other for a minute, unsure how to proceed, until they are interrupted by Dean’s phone ringing. Twenty minutes later, he and Cas are pulling up at a crime scene together.

An hour later, Cas is ashamedly admitting that he needs a ride, and without being prompted, Dean takes him to an outlet mall to get him some real fucking clothes. Guy’s only got his Gas’n’Sip uniform and a nametag that says, “Steve.”

Although he wants to, Dean doesn’t ask to see any of the clothes Cas tries on (all of which Dean picked out). He waits casually outside of dressing rooms, ignoring the strange looks he gets from people passing by. He checks himself a couple of times to make sure none of his tattoos are visible, and once he confirms they’re not, he realizes people are staring because they saw him and Cas together and probably think they’re dating or something. Whatever. People can think whatever the fuck they want.

“Dean, I will pay you back for all of this. Really,” Cas states quietly as they load his three bags’ worth of clothes into the backseat of the Impala.

“C’mon, Cas. It’s fine.”

Dean tries to ignore the jealousy deep in his stomach when they pull up outside of Nora’s house, and somehow he manages to get Cas out of his car and up to the front door without freaking out and begging him not to do this. When Cas clips a rose to give to Nora, Dean’s heart aches. God, when did he turn into such a cliché.

Cas looks back, Dean waves, and then Cas is shooing him away like Dean’s embarrassing him or something. Doesn’t matter, Dean has work to do anyway. He can totally distract himself from thinking about whatever Cas and Nora are going to do. He’s fine. It’s fine.

He gets a 911 from Cas less than an hour later and nearly gets in a wreck rushing back to Nora’s house to find an angel bearing down on Cas and threatening to kill him because—kill him because…that’s what he wants.

“Oh Castiel, you were way too easy to find. All I had to do was follow that deep-seated longing in you. You don’t want to be human, not really. You don’t get it. No, it’s killing you to try to pretend.”

Dean could try to sneak up behind him and stab him, but he honestly kind of wants to hear the rest of this.

“You’re going through the motions—you’re trying so hard. But it’s not working, is it, Cas? Because what you really want, more than to be human, is to be with a human. Right?”

Cas’ eyes flick to Dean and then back to the angel in front of him.

“But he doesn’t want you, does he? Doesn’t want a broken angel. I can help you with that, Cas. I can take all the pain away in just—”

Dean charges. The guy throws him against the wall and turns back to Cas.

But he keeps talking and keeps stalling and he gets right up close to Cas, so Dean throws the angel blade and Cas catches it with grace and stabs the guy right through the chest.

“Dean—Dean, it wasn’t—”

“Shh, it’s all right, Cas. It’s fine. C’mere.” Dean lifts Cas to his feet and tries to soothe him before they clean up the huge mess in Nora’s kitchen.

“Babysitting,” Cas mumbles against Dean’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I noticed. C’mon, she could be home soon.”

She actually doesn’t come home for another two hours. The baby has a fever, which Dean takes care of while Cas freaks out beside him, and then they rock her for a bit before putting her back down for the night. They quietly move about the kitchen cleaning it and making sure there are no signs of any dead angels, but once all of that’s done it’s a waiting game.

“I should go. Probably shouldn’t be here when she gets back,” Dean says reluctantly.

“No! I mean. It’s fine. Please stay.”

So he stays. They sit on the floor of the dim living room, whispering back and forth at each other. It’s easy conversation at first, but then something shifts, and Dean breaks.

“Did you want to have sex with April?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…That was your first time, right?”

“Having sex? Yes, of course. I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Because you were an angel.”

“Yes.”

“But now you’re human.”

“Dean, I don’t think I see the—”

“Would you want to have sex with me?”

Cas shifts and crosses his legs. “I—I don’t know.”

“All—all right. OK. Yeah, no, good. That’s…good.” Dean stares down at his hands and picks at his fingernails.

“Dean.”

Cas waits to continue until Dean is looking back up at him.

“I had sex with April because I thought that was what humans did. I am trying my best to fit in. I wouldn’t want to have sex with you just so I can feel more human.”

“So…you’re saying the only reason you had sex was because you felt obligated?”

“I suppose.”

Oh no. Sammy was right. “Did you enjoy it?”

“My body responded the way it was supposed to.”

“But you’re not going to do it again? You know how consent works, right, Cas? If you don’t want to do it, you say no and get the hell out of there.” Dean is furious. He’s furious, and he can’t believe how fucking selfish he was being before. Cas doesn’t need to have sex. Cas doesn’t need to be put into situations where he feels like he has to have sex. Cas should be with somebody who doesn’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. Cas should be with somebody who—

“Dean, I don’t understand what—”

“Be with me, Cas.”

There’s a sound at the door. Nora’s home.

“Where to, Cas?” Dean asks once they’re standing outside of the Impala.

“I would like to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

Dean nods and gets in the car. It’s silent for a few miles.

Then, suddenly, Cas mumbles, “With you, preferably.”

“What?”

“I would like to sleep in a bed tonight with you.”

“Cas, I don’t…OK.”

“You don’t what?”

“Nothing.” Dean reaches over and squeezes Cas’ knee. “We can talk about it later.”

When they get to the motel, Dean is thrumming with nervous energy. He hasn’t slept in a bed with anybody in a long time. There were a couple of times with Lisa, but—yeah, that was the last time.

Cas stares at him when he comes out of the bathroom in nothing but boxers. Dean immediately regrets his decision to change, but then he realizes what Cas is staring at and relaxes.

“You can touch them if you want,” Dean states as he pulls down the covers and crawls under the sheets.

It takes Cas a beat or two before he strips down to his own boxers (shucks his t-shirt, too) and eagerly climbs up next to Dean and trails a finger along his ribcage. It tickles.

“What do they mean?”

“Uh, they represent monsters I’ve killed.” Dean feels exposed, but it’s OK. Having tattoos makes it easier for people to touch him without him freaking out. That’s probably why he keeps getting them.

“A cauldron?”

“Witches—you know, like in Macbeth.”

He doesn’t ask about the devil’s face or the wolf paw or the fangs. He halts on the wings.

“I’ve killed angels, you know.”

Cas doesn’t comment, just continues on past Casper and Tinkerbelle and stops again at the crossed fork and knife (“For rugaru”) and the fish (“Leviathan—‘cause they’re sea monsters.”)

When Cas gets to the small dragon and is officially done tracing each of the dozens of monster symbols spanning Dean’s ribcage, he places his palm on his chest and looks at him for several moments before leaning down and kissing him gently. Dean cups the back of his neck to hold him in place, and then Cas pulls away and drops his head.

“You have them all over.”

“Yeah.”

“How many?”

“Lost count.”

“I remember seeing them. I didn’t have time to examine them.”

Dean shifts under Cas. “The hell you talking about?”

“When I pulled you out of the pit. It was hard to see—you were all lit up in yellow hues and purple light. But I got a glimpse of your body before you returned to your tomb, and I correctly assumed they were not blemishes that needed fixing.”

“Oh.” Dean takes a pause before continuing, “I always wondered how they all stayed.”

Suddenly Cas braces himself above Dean and begins dropping light kisses down his chest. He looks up at Dean after the third as if to ask if this is all right, and Dean nods vigorously. This is more than all right.

Cas’ lips find the barcode on his left hip (“It’s for my favorite brand of pie”) and the cowboy swinging a lasso on his right. Dean feels like his head might explode when Cas’ mouth moves to the base of his stomach and starts going south.

“Cas—”

But he pauses before Dean can say anything else. Curiously, he pulls at the waistband of Dean’s boxers just a little and stares at what he finds there.

“What symbol is this?” he asks casually.

“It’s, uh, the asexual flag.”

Cas lets go of the waistband and scoots up beside Dean so they can talk easier. “Asexual flag?”

“That's, uh, what I was going to…talk to you about.” Dean shifts so he’s on his side facing Cas. “Asexual means that you don’t, um—”

“You’re not a sexual being.”

“What?”

“Like angels. You don’t feel sexual attraction.”

“Yeah. You knew that?”

“I didn’t know that about you specifically.”

“Yeah, um, I don’t—have sex.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth lifts slightly, and he runs a hand through Dean’s hair. “Do you go on dates?”

“Not really.”

“Do you sleep in beds with people?”

“Only you hopefully.”

“So, I don’t have to do those things to be human?”

“Unless I’m not human, then no. You don’t. You never have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Cas surges forward and kisses Dean hard, reassuring. “Good.”

“Go to sleep, Cas.”

When Dean wakes up in the morning, he tries not to jump at the cool touch of a hand on his leg. He must’ve slipped out from under the covers sometime in the night, because he’s hanging halfway off the bed with his pillow on the floor.

He props himself up on his elbows and turns his head to find Cas, in his gas station uniform, sitting on the edge of the bed and gliding his hand along Dean’s calf.

“When the hell did you get up?”

“Half an hour ago. Is this—”

“Four horsemen of the apocalypse, yeah. And Godzilla on the other one.”

Cas’ hand moves to his ankle and circles around the text. “The Beatles?”

“You know that one? My mom used to sing it to me.”

Cas doesn’t say anything else as his fingertips glide along the KAZ-2Y5 on the side of his right foot, the map of the United States sideways on his shin.

“You’re going to put me back to sleep if you keep touching me like that.”

Cas’ hand is immediately gone.

Dean groans. “I wasn’t saying stop, but OK. I’ll get up.” He rolls off the bed and cracks his back as he heads into the bathroom. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him, and he smirks. He doesn’t always like the way people look at him, but then again he knows he’s a good-looking guy and he’s got quite an impressive body of art. Also, he’s never minded the way Cas stares.

They have to speed for Cas to get to work on time, but then they spend probably way more time than necessary saying their goodbyes.

“Listen, Cas. Back at the bunker, I, uh...Sorry I told you to go. I know it's been hard on you, you know, on your own. Well, you're adapting. I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Cas starts to get out of the car, but Dean stops him with a hand to his knee. “And Cas? Soon—I promise, soon you’ll be able to come home.”

He smiles sadly at that, and then he’s gone.

“Remember what you said to me, Sammy? Before the trials?”

Sam looks up from his laptop with wide eyes. “I’m sure I said a lot of things.”

“You said you—you said you saw a way out. A happy ending or whatever. You still believe that?”

He shuts his laptop. “I don’t know, Dean. I haven’t really—I haven’t thought much about it. I mean, we didn’t shut the gates of hell. The angels are all—look, there’s a lot going on now. We can’t just…give up.”

“I’m not saying give up. I just would like to—I don’t know. Never mind.”

“Hey, wait. I do still believe it.”

“What?”

“Light at the end of the tunnel. I still think it’s there, I just think…”

“Spit it out.”

“I think it’s more for you, not for me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Not that I think I’m going to, like, die or something, but I don’t know. I can’t imagine doing anything other than hunting, you know?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

After two weeks of laying low and trying to get Sam healed up, Cas calls.

“Heya, Cas. You all right?”

“Dean. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Texting not enough for you, huh?”

“I miss you.”

Dean clears his throat before answering, “Yeah, buddy, me too. I, uh—you’ll be able to come home soon, all right?”

“Dean, please—please tell me why I can’t be there now.”

“You know we’re still trying to find this dickbag—”

“Last I heard, all of the angels are rallying behind an old friend of mine named Hannah. She is fighting to get us all back to heaven.”

The line goes dead for a minute.

“Dean? Are you there?”

“Yeah, Cas. Yeah. I’m here. Uh, so you’ll go back then? Get your grace from Metatron or something?”

“I—I don’t…”

“It’s OK, I get it. I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to you later, Cas.”

“Wait. Don’t hang up. Please. Dean, tell me why I can’t be there.”

What the hell’s the point anymore. “There’s an angel. He’s, um, trying to heal Sammy up. His name’s Ezekiel, and Sam doesn’t know about him.”

There’s a sound on the other line like Cas is scrambling to stand up. “Ezekiel? Ezekiel died hundreds of years ago.”

Dean drops his phone on the table. “Stay on the line, Cas. I’ll be right back.”

The first thing he does is sprint to the dungeon and release Crowley from his confines.

“Need your help. There’s an angel inside Sam, and we got to get him out.”

“Excuse me?” Crowley asks as he stands and rubs his wrists.

“You heard me. I swear I’ll let you walk right out the front door after.”

“Well, let’s get to it then.”

They find Sam in his bedroom taking a fucking nap. Dean wants nothing more than to put a knife to his throat, but instead he just whispers Ezekiel’s name like a fucking lunatic.

The angel sits up and stares at Dean in confusion.

“You’re not Ezekiel. So who the fuck are you?”

Not-Ezekiel scrambles like he’s forgotten that he can’t fly, and in the time it takes him to figure that out, Dean has an angel blade pointed at him and handcuffs on his wrists. They take him down to the dungeon, and that’s where Dean lets Crowley do the work.

You’re working with Metatron, aren’t you? Tell me you’re working with Metatron!

How do I know for sure you’re actually helping Sam and not killing him in there?

Who are you? Tell me who you are, and this can all stop.

They get a name. Gadreel. From where he’s on speakerphone, Cas yells that the angel is not to be trusted.

Well, duh.

Right as Dean and Crowley are deciding if they should force Gadreel out of Sam’s body, Metatron pops in right there in front of where Sam’s tied down.

“Well, well, well, what have we here? A little meeting? And you didn’t invite me? I’m so offended.”

Dean tries to move and finds that he’s stuck in place. The angel blade flies out of his hand and directly into Metatron’s. Crowley appears to be incapacitated as well.

Just as Dean thinks Metatron is going to give a big, boring speech before killing them all, he’s suddenly glowing blue and falling flat on his face.

Gadreel is behind him, still strapped to the chair, looking angrier than Dean’s ever seen him.

“Did you just—did you throw an angel blade at his back?” Dean asks.

“Do you disapprove?”

“How did you even—where did you even—never mind. Can you get the hell out of my brother please?”

“I am not leaving that easily. Your brother is still not—”

“You’re full of shit, you know that? Sam! Sammy, you in there? Can you hear me? Sammy, you got to fight this guy. You’re going to be pissed as hell at me when you wake up, but right now I need you to force this douchebag out.”

Gadreel winces and continues, “I don’t understand why you won’t allow me to stay. Did I not just kill Metatron?”

“Yeah, great job on that. You want a pat on the back or something? Crowley! You going to help me or not?”

“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it,” Crowley says calmly from where he’s waiting behind Dean.

Dean already knows what he’s going to say. “Poughkeepsie.”

“Excuse me?”

“When you get in there, say ‘Poughkeepsie.’ He’ll know I sent you.”

In a moment, Crowley’s red smoke materializes out of his body and flies down Sam’s throat.

Dean sits. And waits. And then waits some more. He watches the blood pour out of Metatron’s vessel and wonders how they’re going to dispose of his body. Maybe they can get a wood chipper.

Then, finally, Sam’s head shoots up, his eyes glow blue, red smoke pours from his mouth, and when it’s all over and done with Sam says, “Dean,” quietly before passing out.

“You’re free to go,” Dean tells Crowley without even turning to look at him.

Dean spends the next week and a half taking care of Sam. It’s not like it’s anything new, but it’s still tough. He desperately wants his brother to be OK, and this damn fever just won’t break. The hallucinations at least stop after the first couple of days. Sammy manages to sleep on day three. He’s on his feet by day six.

“You let Crowley go?”

“He helped me get you better.”

Sam takes a seat at the kitchen counter and pulls a mug of coffee over to himself. “And you don’t want to deal with him anymore.”

“Yeah. So? I’m tired, Sammy.”

“I know. But, uh, you need to level with me, Dean. You let an angel in my skin without my permission when I wanted to die. Care to explain yourself?”

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” Dean mutters.

“You’re selfish, you know that? You’d never fucking live without me, would you? You ever think maybe that’s not what I want?”

Selfish. Dean is selfish. “I want what’s best for you.”

“Just admit you can’t live without me. Please. Admit that this is about you, not me.”

If Sam didn’t sound so goddamn exhausted, Dean would maybe fight back. But they’ve been round and round this argument for literally years, and Dean is exhausted, too. So maybe he can just quit being a baby and listen to the truth for once. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” He stands and pats Sam on the back. “I think I’m done, Sammy.”

They don’t talk again for a while.

But since Sam is doing well enough on his own, Dean calls Cas and tells him to get his ass home.

When Dean picks him up at the bus station the following morning, Cas drops his duffel bag at his feet and pulls Dean against his chest like he needs him.

“Is this an appropriate greeting?” Cas mumbles into Dean’s jacket.

Dean squeezes Cas tight and laughs. “Yeah, buddy. Welcome home.”

They stand like that for a solid two minutes before driving home hand-in-hand. In silence.

When Crowley calls two days later and asks for their help against Abaddon, Dean takes the phone right out of Sam’s hand, says, “no thanks,” and hangs up.

“We’re retired,” is the only explanation he gives.

That day, Kevin moves out, too. Their last hunt is finding his mom so they can go home to Michigan together. Dean has never felt so damn good in his life.

“You sure about this? You sure you want to quit?” Sam asks him for the fourth time one night.

“I’m done, Sammy. If you want to keep hunting, I’m not stopping you. But yeah, I’m done.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to settle down with Cas, I’m going to get that mural on my back I’ve wanted for years, and I’m going to gain 20 pounds right here,” Dean concludes with a pat to his gut.

Sam’s response is not anywhere in the vicinity of what Dean expected. “Tattoos will look uglier than they already are if you gain weight.”

“Bitch.”

Sam lifts his right arm and pulls up his shirtsleeve in retaliation.

“That’s my social security number. My real one.”

It’s been weeks, and Cas is still finding new tattoos on Dean. Of course, he’s taking his time, and he always starts his routine by returning to his favorites—“Team Free Will” in Enochian across his lower back, Job 33:23-25 in red on his right shoulder blade, Wolverine wrestling an alligator on his ass (he was drunk).

Dean is unsure if anyone has ever seen the social security number—it’s on the inside of his upper thigh, and it hurt like hell to get. He’s not sure if anyone’s ever seen the one on his ass either. But Dean doesn’t mind baring himself to Cas, doesn’t mind being naked and vulnerable around him. He makes a lot of exceptions for his angel.

“The tally marks on your neck, what do they represent?” Cas asks as he presses his naked body down on Dean and touches the side of his neck.

“Left is for all the times I’ve died, right is for all the people I couldn’t save.” The admission is easier than Dean expected it to be. “Sam’s the only person I’ve ever told that to.”

Cas spends the next five minutes lavishing kisses on the hundreds of tally marks.

“You know, Cas, I didn’t like being kissed very much until you came along,” Dean says as he wraps his arms around Cas’ back.

“Likewise,” Cas mutters into Dean’s skin.

“Do you want to date me?”

He pauses his lips longer this time. “Is that not what we’re doing?”

“I mean, we’re…Wait, what are we?”

“Two humans living together and making your brother increasingly more uncomfortable every day in hopes that he will move out and get married like we want him to.”

“OK, but like, are we—um, boyfriends?”

Cas pulls his head up to crinkle his nose at Dean.

“Yeah, I don’t really like it either.”

“Would you like to take me on dates, Dean?”

“I don’t know. I think it would be fun. And we both have respectable jobs, so we can afford it.”

“Oh, so my sales associate position is respectable now?” Cas teases as he traps his own hands between Dean’s shoulder blades and the bed.

“Still not as sweet as me getting to work on cars, but yeah. I already told you I’m proud of you.” Dean pushes up to catch Cas’ lips with his own.

“OK, Dean.”

“OK what?”

“You can take me out and buy me food.” He drops his cheek on Dean’s chest. “But don’t dates usually end in sex?”

“How many times do I have to assure you that—”

“Right, we don’t have to have sex. Not ever. I know.”

Cas decides to end the conversation right there by continuing his relentless kissing down Dean’s collarbone and across his shoulders. He stops when he gets to the left side, stares, and then looks at Dean like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Dean smiles and says, “I was waiting for you to notice.”

“That’s…how did you even know?”

The truth is that Dean saw Cas use it once and copied it to memory so he could get it later. It’s a simple design, just circles and squares with lines intersecting, but its meaning is what matters. It’s an angel-summoning sigil.

Cas stares at it for a long time, rubbing his thumb idly over the lines until Dean gets uncomfortable from having the angel on top of him for so long. Cas moves to his side when Dean shifts, scooting up behind him and wrapping an arm around his middle.

He whispers right into his ear, “I love you, Dean.”

It’s the first time anyone’s said that to Dean since he was 4 and his mom tucked him into bed at night.

He tenses, his heart rate increases…but this is Cas. So he immediately relaxes and covers his hand with his own. The best response he can give Cas is a squeeze.

And when the angel Hannah shows up at their door a month later holding a vial full of grace in her hand and announces, “I thought Cas might want this back,” Cas responds by laughing, grabbing the vial without even looking at it, and shoving it against Dean’s chest as he turns away from Hannah.

Archive of Our Own^beta

Actions

Work Header

(Un)selfish

mnwood

Summary:

Notes:

Work Text:

Notes:

Actions

Kudos

Comments

Footer

About the Archive

Contact Us

Development