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That night, the night Cas comes back, Benny takes the first watch.
“I don’t mind, brother,” he says when Dean tries to refuse. “Y’all ain’t seen each other in a long time. I’m sure you’ve got… catching up to do.”
Dean blushes bright red. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s not?” Benny raises an eyebrow. “You just spent a year tearing through Purgatory for the guy. That ain’t exactly friendship.”
And, well. What the hell is Dean going to say to that?
The thing about Purgatory is that it gets cold at night. There’s always a chill in the air that Dean worries will stick around in his bones forever, even if they do manage to get out of here and back to the real world. Most nights, he and Benny stay close—one propped up with a machete across his lap, and the other one sleeping fitfully pressed to his side—to keep human Dean warm. Tonight, though, things are different. Dean tries to get comfortable underneath a gnarled tree while Cas stares at him, and Benny keeps watch a few yards away, pointedly not looking at them.
“I don’t sleep,” Cas says.
Dean rolls his eyes. There’s no way to feel relaxed or comfortable with roots digging into his back and layers of blood and dirt covering his body, so he just gives up. He glares up at Cas. “I know, dude. But I do sleep, and it’s fucking freezing, so get down here so I don’t die of hypothermia.”
“You can’t die of hypothermia in Purgatory,” Cas grumbles, but he’s already lowering to his knees on the forest floor. Dean figured he’d just sit against the tree like Benny does—he’d already imagined it, how it would feel to press his face against Cas’s thigh, the sensation of corded muscle he just knows is there underneath Cas’s clothes—but he lays down beside Dean.
It’s quiet. The rustling ambient sounds of the nightmare forest that is Purgatory fade into the background as Dean looks up at the ink-black sky. He can feel Cas’s body beside him. His chest aches.
“Did you even listen to any of it?” Dean says.
“Any of what?”
Dean turns on his side and shifts closer to Cas, seeking out his body heat. “You said you knew I’ve been praying to you since we got here. Did you bother to listen or did you tune me out like I’m the fucking easy listening station?”
Cas’s eyes are a shining, otherworldly blue in the dark. Dean hasn’t seen him in so long that the color feels brand new.
“I was listening,” Cas says quietly. The words stay trapped between their mouths, the smallest sound in the world. “Of course I was listening.”
Dean squeezes his eyes shut, abruptly near tears, abruptly overwhelmed by grief and fear and exhaustion. Whatever it was in him that used to be able to push this kind of shit deep down inside has withered up and died over the past few months. Now, his stupid heart is always on his stupid fucking sleeve.
“I’m sorry,” Cas says. He sounds like he is. He sounds hurt.
“Don’t you know by now that we need to stick together?” Dean says, and if his voice cracks, Cas is good enough not to acknowledge it. “We’re a team . We’re safer when it’s both us. Fuck the leviathans, fuck everything else in this place. You can’t just leave me behind like that. It’s not your choice to make. It’s not—” He can’t say anymore, because if John Winchester’s body wasn’t ash in the sky, he’d roll in his grave at the idea of Dean whining about what’s fair and not fair.
“I’m never going to stop trying to protect you,” Cas says after a moment. He reaches out and lays his hand on Dean’s arm, fitting right over where the raised handprint once was. Dean’s stomach swoops at the sensation. “You need to know that. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’d rather do that then put you in danger.”
Dean hates him. Dean loves him. Dean wants to punch him and kiss him and hold him so tight that he can never leave again.
“You’re a real son of a bitch,” Dean says, and he does cry, a little, then.
Cas smiles. It’s a thin thing—a tired thing—but it’s there. His hand slides up Dean’s arm and shoulder to the back of his neck. His hand is so warm on the exposed skin there.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
Dean leans in so that their foreheads press together, their noses brush, their lips just barely touch. Cas lets out a little gasp, and God, Dean loves him. He hates him, and he got him back after all this time, and now they’re holding each other here in the dirt of Purgatory.
“I want to kiss you,” Cas whispers. He sounds terrified by it. His whole body is tense against Dean’s.
“Not yet,” Dean says. His blood is pumping and hot all over. “Not—not here.”
Cas’s lips are chapped, and they almost catch on Dean’s. “But… later?”
“Later,” Dean agrees. He’s breathless. He’s in love. “I’m getting us out of here, and we’re gonna do this right once we’re topside. Okay?”
They’re too close for Dean to see Cas’s expression, but Cas pulls him even closer, tucking his face into Dean’s neck, so that’s gotta be a yes. Dean squeezes him tight. He really hopes that Benny isn’t paying any attention.
“I’m sorry.” Cas’s voice is muffled by Dean’s jacket.
“I know you are,” Dean says. “But just for the record—I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, too. You’re not the only one.”
Something in the woods howls, and goosebumps rise all over Dean’s skin.
“I know, Dean,” Cas whispers.
They don’t speak again. They stay curled together, warmth seeping through Cas’s alien skin to Dean’s, and eventually, they fall asleep. Dean dreams of a real bed and clean sheets. He dreams of kissing Cas, whole and warm and safe from all the monsters in the world. It’s a good dream.