Archive of Our Own ^beta

Castiel wasn’t just happy when he died. He was relieved. 

He told Dean, “I love you,” and a tremendous burden lifted from his heart. He was finally honest with Dean, and with himself. 

And it didn’t matter that Dean didn’t feel the same way, because the next moment, Cas was gone. 

Then something happened that Cas wasn’t expecting: he opened his eyes. 

There was darkness all around him, pressing in and spreading out and flowing all around. 

But there was also Jack. 

Cas’ heart swelled at the sight of his son, only to crumble when he realized what Jack being in the Empty must mean. 

But then Jack smiled. 

“I’m here to save you.” 

It happened quickly: Jack’s explanation of the plan, the arrival of the Shadow, the extraction of Castiel’s grace. It hurt, but Cas didn’t have time to process the pain, because then Jack was flying him to freedom.  

Cas’ feet hit solid ground and he staggered, unused to only existing in the physical plane. He blinked, the spectrum of light visible to him drastically reduced. He shook his head, the world suddenly sounding muffled. 

He’d been human before, but that didn’t make it any less disorienting. 

It was only after a few seconds that Cas looked around and realized that he was in the war room of the bunker. 

Which meant that he was back in the fight against Chuck.

"What’s happening, what do I need to do?" Cas' eyes slid to the doorways, expecting to see Dean appear, blood racing at the thought. If he was lucky, it would only be awkward to see him again. But at least there was a greater cause to keep them distracted.  

"Be happy," Jack answered. 

Cas frowned. "What?"

Jack beamed. "We already won, Cas. You can relax."

He should have been glad that the fight was over, but the news wasn't settling in Cas' brain. There had to be something for him to do. "What about you?"

Jack stood up a little straighter. "I have work to do."

"Then take me with you," Cas said, his voice tinged with desperation. He couldn't be sure with his senses dulled, but he thought he heard the Winchesters' voices nearby, their footsteps approaching. He imagined seeing Dean again, his resurrection spoiling his last grand gesture. He imagined facing Dean, when Dean knew the full extent of his feelings. The thought filled him with panic. 

He insisted to Jack, "I’ll help."

"I'll be back soon," Jack answered calmly. He laid a hand on Cas' shoulder. "Cas, you’re human now. You have a life to live. Enjoy it."

He recognized Jack's soothing tone as one that Cas had used to reassure him in the past. The reversal could have been amusing, but Cas was mostly frustrated. "Jack --"

The words caught in Cas' throat at the sound of what were definitely footsteps, rushing towards the war room. And then coming to a halt. 

He turned. 

Dean was framed in the archway like a sculpture. His stance was tense, muscles pulled taut; but his mouth was slack, lips hanging open, eyes wide. His face was drawn and tired, but still perfectly lovely.

Sam appeared beside Dean, and balked in surprise. Cas didn’t notice, as he was preoccupied with Dean. And he was preoccupied with remembering just how physical his attraction was when he couldn't suppress it with his grace. 

Dean looked like he was about to collapse, like he'd seen a ghost. And Cas could imagine striding towards him, kissing the look of shock from his face. 

He suddenly worried that Dean could tell what he was thinking. Since he knew now.

"Hello!" Jack said. "I got Cas." He tilted his head and furrowed his brows like he was listening to something that Cas could no longer hear. He sighed apologetically. "I need to go now."

"Jack!" Cas whipped around to stop him. But Jack was already gone. 

Cas stared at empty space. 

A beat of silence stretched over the war room. 

"Oh my god…" Sam said in an awed tone. 

Cas swallowed and turned to face the brothers. 

“Hello Sam." His eyes slid from Sam to Dean, and Cas tried to keep his voice calm and even when he said, "Dean."

Dean kept staring at Cas with that blank, shell-shocked expression. "Is this real?" he asked, voice a rough whisper. 

"Yes. Jack got me out of the Empty. I’m human now. And…" the significance of the brothers' surprise suddenly registered with him. "You didn’t know about it?"

Dean opened his mouth as if to answer, his lower lip shaking. Then he shut it again. 

Cas took that as a no. 

Dean hadn’t been trying to get him back. 

Which shouldn't have been a surprise, Cas thought. After all, Dean didn't try last time either. Though he’d still been glad to see Cas alive again. 

But back then, Castiel had a sense of Dean’s soul. He had felt it light up warmly when they embraced. 

Now Cas sensed nothing from Dean. Like every thread that had connected them in the past was broken. 

"No, we didn’t…" Sam confirmed. "But… this is great!" He exclaimed, a smile breaking across his face. He moved towards Cas with open arms. "Welcome back!"

Sam caught Cas up in his tall frame. Numbly, Cas hugged him back. When Sam stepped away from him, beaming, Cas returned a weak smile. 

Sam turned over his shoulder towards his brother.

Dean hadn't moved at all.

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, and he prompted, "Dean?" 

At his brother's voice Dean startled, and shook his head as if to clear it. 

Cas felt his heart racing as Dean approached. 

Then Dean’s arms were around him. Cas wanted to live forever in that moment of closeness. 

Which lasted all of four seconds. 

Dean drew away quickly, and Cas swayed on his feet, unbalanced. 

Dean gave him two pats on the shoulder. 

“Good to have you back, buddy,” he said, his voice flat and mechanical. 

Cas was dying all over again. 

“Do you need anything?” Sam was asking, unaware that the earth was caving in around Cas, that his sky was falling, his moon had gone out like a light. “Are you hungry, or…”

“I… I’m tired.” Cas managed to say, voice more gravelly than normal. He turned to look at Sam, for no other reason than to keep his gaze from being drawn back towards Dean and his blank expression. 

“Yeah, your room’s still there.”

“Thank you,” he choked out. Without waiting another second, Cas rushed towards the bedroom hallway. 

Out of the corner of his eye, it looked like Dean made an abortive move, like he was about to follow Cas. But his now-human eyes must have been playing tricks on him, because Dean stayed where he was, and Cas went to his room alone. 

As soon as his bedroom door was closed, Cas leaned against it, tipping his head back, breathing deeply. 

When he had died, Cas could see that Dean cared about him, regardless of anything else. He had looked in Dean’s eyes, and seen that he was already mourning. But now, Cas couldn’t help but wonder if he’d imagined it. He had no way of testing if his recollection was true, no way to pick up the resonance of Dean’s moods.

Cas had no way of knowing anything. He’d lost half his senses, and he didn’t know if he could trust the ones that were left. 

The expression on Dean’s face when he saw him in the war room was so similar to what it had been in the dungeon; Dean looked just as heartbroken when Cas returned as when he had died. Cas didn’t know what that meant, but his mind had no problem supplying the worst possible interpretations. 

Dean is my friend, Cas tried to remind himself. Dean is still my friend. 

But soon, doubt started to creep into even that fundamental truth. 

Cas slid down to the floor. The concrete was cold and unforgiving beneath him. 

He knew that he was wrong to miss the void of death, but… everything had been wrapped up so cleanly. Cas had saved Dean with one last sacrifice. He’d let Dean know how much he was loved, without saddling him with the burden of dealing with the consequences of that love -- a burden that Cas also got to avoid. Their friendship had been preserved, in memory, in that perfect state forever. 

Now Cas was alive again, but Dean was… absent from him. Cas couldn’t feel their connection anymore. And it was his own fault. 

Cas closed his eyes and swallowed down whatever pathetic sound was trying to crawl its way up his throat. 

“Jack?” He prayed, “Please come back. Please take me with you. I don’t… I don’t think I belong here.”

The cold seeped into Cas’ bones. 

“Please take me to Heaven.”

Jack didn’t appear. 

Cas sat on the floor, painfully uncomfortable, but unwilling to move as he nursed the dull pain in his chest. He bit back the urge to cry, hating the way his body betrayed him, hating being human and helpless. 

At one point, Cas thought he heard footsteps approaching. But the sound stopped at his door, the steps didn’t continue, and no one knocked. He realized his senses were unreliable -- he was hearing things. 

Eventually, Cas felt his eyelids begin to droop. He almost decided to curl up on the floor -- there was something darkly satisfying about staying at the lowest point in the room -- but he knew what it was like to wake up after nights sleeping on the ground. So he dragged himself to his feet, shrugged off his coat, toed off his shoes, and collapsed onto his bed. 

It occurred to Cas that he might not have a bed for very long, so he’d better enjoy it.

No, Dean regretted making me leave the last time I was human. He won’t do it again.

But if Jack wasn’t going to bring him back to Heaven, it would be up to Cas himself to end the painful tension between him and Dean. Maybe he should leave anyway. 

But where would I go? What would I do?

Cas knew he’d made it on his own before, and he could do it again. The thought of leaving in the middle of the night settled heavily in the pit of his stomach, strangely grounding, and satisfying in the same way that lying on the floor was. 

But I don’t want to go.

It was with cycling thoughts, repeating and folding back on each other and never fading, that Cas sank into a restless sleep. Before he lost consciousness, he could almost hear the sound of footsteps walking away from his door. 

Ow.

Cas’ first thought when he woke up was that he was dying. But then he remembered: hunger pangs. Hunger pangs felt like this. Also tension headaches. 

His bedside clock said that it was two in the morning. Cas weighed the possibility that Dean was still awake and wandering around. Then his stomach seized painfully, and he decided that food was worth the risk of running into Dean. Sighing morosely to himself, Cas dragged himself out of bed.

Eyes downcast, he opened his bedroom door. And he blinked in surprise. A neat little pile of clothes was sitting by his room, waiting for him. 

Cas bent down, and picked up the clothes. There were a few t-shirts, some socks and underwear, a pair of jeans and a flannel, and an old gray robe. They were soft, and worn, and though freshly washed, when Cas held them up he thought they smelled like Dean.

Though he might have been wrong on that point. Smell worked differently, now that he was human. But he was certain that the clothes belonged to Dean, for no other reason than that Sam’s clothes would have been far too big. 

Something cracked in Cas' chest at the thought of Dean picking out the clothes and leaving them by his room; at Dean doing this favour for his newly resurrected best friend, in spite of the fact that Dean could barely stand to touch him or say more than five words to him. 

It was a considerate gesture. Dean was a good man. 

Cas set the clothes on top of his dresser. His own clothes felt scratchy against his skin, and mildly sticky from being slept in, but he decided not to change. Something about the idea of wearing Dean’s clothes seemed wrong. Like Cas would be fooling himself that everything was fine. Like he and Dean could go back to the way they'd always been. 

Looking both ways down the hallway, Cas made sure the way was clear. Treading as quietly as possible, he headed towards the kitchen.

Castiel knew how to work the stove. He knew how to heat things up. But he didn't know how to cook.  

So he stood in front of the pantry, looking at the array of tinned soups and chilis and meats and vegetables, feeling vaguely ill at the prospect of leaving the bunker and having to subsist on scavenging and food banks in the near future.

A cough sounded from the doorway.

Cas spun around.

It was only Sam. 

Cas swallowed his racing heart, which had jumped up into his throat. 

"Hey," Sam said, regarding Cas with a cautious look. 

Cas nodded in greeting. "You can’t sleep either?" he asked, rather than face the canned goods again. 

"Nah," Sam answered. He ambled to the fridge and started rooting around inside. "Got stuck in a good podcast, haven’t been to bed yet. You looking for food?” 

Cas nodded again.

“Here.” Sam straightened up, and held out a mason jar packed with salad. 

“Thank you.” Cas took the jar and stared at it, unsure of how to proceed.  

With a sigh, Sam took the jar back, shook it up, and unscrewed the lid. He handed it to Cas again. “Come on,” Sam said. “Sit.”

Sam and Cas sat across from each other at the kitchen table, each with his own mason jar salad, chewing in silence. 

As he stabbed his fork into his jar, Cas realized that he hadn’t ever eaten anything that wasn’t heavily processed before. The peppery arugula, the burst of cherry tomatoes on his tongue, the salt of feta cheese, the tang of the vinaigrette, were all new to him. And with every bite, Cas felt his stomach settle and his headache recede. Which allowed him to focus all the more clearly on his churning thoughts.  

“How’re you feeling?” Sam eventually asked. 

Cas poked at a soggy leaf at the bottom of his jar. Unable to pierce it, he tried to use his fork to drag it up the side of the glass. It didn’t work. 

Cas sighed and set the jar down. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he confessed. 

Sam shrugged, saying in an easy tone, “Well you’ve got time to figure it out. And who says you have to do anything? You earned some time off. Just hang around here.”

“I’m not sure that I can,” he replied in a low voice. 

“What,” Sam balked, “like you’re thinking of leaving?”

Cas hesitated, wondering how candid he could be. “Dean--”

“He’d flip out if you left.”

Cas frowned skeptically.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I know he looked like he took a frying pan to the face earlier, but believe me, he’s ecstatic that you’re back.”

“Really,” Cas said flatly.  

“Yeah,” Sam said like he was stating the obvious. “You know how he gets when you’re gone.”

Cas cocked his head, confused. 

Sam continued without missing a beat. “And hey, even if he wasn’t, you know this is your home too, right?”

The sincerity of his friend’s words struck Cas unexpectedly. He swallowed and maintained his composure. “Thank you Sam.”

“‘Course,” Sam rose from his seat. “Try to relax, okay? It’s over.”

Cas nodded, returning Sam’s smile with a tight-lipped one of his own. 

Sam dropped his empty jar in the kitchen sink, and headed to his room, leaving Castiel alone in the kitchen. 

And Cas sat alone, thinking about what Sam had said about Dean, trying to reconcile it with his experience, feeling like he was chasing a horse on a carousel and always a few steps behind. 

He was tired. 

As Castiel walked back to his room, one thing that Sam said stuck in his mind, playing on loop: It’s over.

Though he never sought conflict, it was always in the midst of the fight where Castiel found clarity. Clarity of purpose, and of identity. And as many quiet times as they shared -- what felt like far too few -- it was always being in the fight together that reinforced Cas’ friendship with Dean. 

When Cas got to his room, he changed into Dean’s clothes, and curled up on the bed. He fell asleep with a sense of mourning pulled over him like a blanket. 

In his life, Castiel had faced many consequences for his actions. Many terrible consequences, for many mistakes and crimes. Torture, exile, and death were all familiar to him. But those consequences were all in the past. When Cas woke up the morning after being resurrected for the nth time, there was only one consequence that he was facing, and it was the worst of them all: The end of his friendship with Dean. 

Even if Sam was right and Dean was “ecstatic” to have Cas back, that was only in the abstract, when Cas wasn’t in the room with him. Dean had proven that already. Inevitably, the tension that Cas felt between them in the war room would take its toll. Dean knew how Cas felt about him, and there was no way to take it back, no way to go back to just being friends. 

Cas knew that it was better to face Dean, and get it over with, rather than draw out his suffering. 

But he didn’t want to get out of bed. The Led Zeppelin t-shirt and hot dog pajama pants he was wearing were warm and soft. He could hear Dean’s voice from down the hallway, and Sam’s too, and he knew that they were both safe. He even let himself imagine that Dean was waiting for him in the kitchen, so that they could share breakfast in each other’s company. Cas liked to imagine being happy. 

However, hunger was a persistent enemy. Cas cursed the human body and its constant need for maintenance. Treading softly and looking over his shoulder, he snuck into the hallway and headed towards the kitchen. As he approached the library, he heard Dean’s voice, speaking in an indistinct, harried tone. Unwilling to take the risk, Cas doubled back, and took the long route to the kitchen.

His stomach growled for something more substantial than Sam’s salads, so Cas heated up a tin of beans in a frying pan, along with two frozen hot dogs. When he was satisfied that the hot dogs were at least somewhat warm in the middle, he shoveled the food into a bowl and hurried out of the kitchen before Dean could notice that anyone was there. 

Cas kept an ear out for footsteps or voices as he took the same winding route back to his room. He was breathing a sigh of relief at having avoided confrontation when he turned the last corner--

--and saw Dean standing at his bedroom door. 

Cas froze. He wondered if he could still sneak away.

“Cas…”

Too late. 

Dean was staring at Cas, wide-eyed, looking just as surprised and wrong-footed as Cas felt. 

“Dean. Hello.”

Dean kept staring, silently, lips parted and looking incredibly soft. His hair was gently ruffled, like he’d been running his hands through it, and Cas found himself imagining how it would feel between his own fingers. 

Cas shifted on his feet and gripped his bowl of beans. “Did you… want something?”

Dean shrugged. His voice was oddly hushed when he said, “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.” 

Cas returned the shrug and spread his arms, a silent demonstration that he was still alive.

Suddenly, Cas was very aware that he was wearing Dean’s things. Far from clothing him, the fact made him feel more exposed. The way Dean’s eyes anxiously moved over his body made Cas wonder how it would feel for Dean to examine him with appreciation instead.  

He held his food closer in front of him. 

"I guess…" Dean swallowed. "You don’t need anything, huh?"

Just you, Cas thought. 

"I’m okay," he answered. 

Dean's head bobbed. "Good, good."

Cas had been expecting some kind of confrontation with Dean. Now that they were face-to-face, he didn't know what to say. 

Dean didn't seem to know what to say either. 

The silence stretched out like it was strapped to a medieval torture device. 

Cas' eyes darted towards his bedroom door, the only escape he had, blocked by Dean. 

Dean must have noticed, because he blinked to awareness, mumbled an apology, and stepped aside. 

Cas rushed to take his opening. 

His hand was on the door when Dean said, "Cas?"

Cas paused, his fingers curling in. He turned. 

Dean was looking at him with that wide-eyed, watery expression again. He swallowed, and mouthed silently for a moment, before rasping out, "I’m glad you’re here."

Cas felt his heart shift painfully. He didn’t know what to say.

Dean dropped his gaze. Unable to look Cas in the eye for long. Cas could imagine how uncomfortable he was. 

His free hand balled into a fist against the doorframe. Cas wanted to disappear into his room. But he didn’t want to turn away from Dean. 

"Thank you," he said. 

Dean frowned. Opened his mouth, closed it. "Well… I, uh…" Dean swallowed. "I’ll talk to you later," he mumbled. 

And then he walked away.

Cas ate in his room and didn't venture out again that day. 

Cas was woken the next morning by his empty stomach. He lay in bed, clenching his jaw against the discomfort, and decided that it was time to clear the air with Dean. The present situation could not go on forever, not least because he needed to eat more than once every twelve hours. 

With grim determination, Cas dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the common areas. With every step, he prepared to tell Dean that he understands if Dean thinks he should leave. By the time he reached the empty war room, Cas was resolved to insist on leaving the bunker, whether Dean agreed or not. 

In the kitchen, Cas found Sam, blending up a smoothie. 

Cas waited for the blender to stop whirring, and then asked, “Where’s Dean? I need to talk to him.”

Sam glanced up briefly in acknowledgement, then turned his attention to pouring his drink. 

“He just went shopping. He’ll be back in a few hours.” 

Cas deflated.

His smoothie decanted, Sam took a long sip. “Why, is something up?”

“No,” Cas frowned. “No, nothing… nothing important.” 

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Cas wandered back to his room before remembering that he still hadn’t eaten. 

One bowl of cereal later, Cas was pacing his bedroom floor, strategizing for his talk with Dean. He mentally prepared to stay firm if Dean fought with him. He practiced remaining stoic if Dean agreed that he should go. 

He went over what he would say. 

“Dean,” Cas told the brick wall, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve given me--” 

He paused, catching himself before he started repeating his former-final words. 

“You know I do.” He cringed, picturing Dean’s discomfort at being reminded of Cas’ feelings. 

Still, it was important to avoid misunderstandings. Cas wanted to communicate clearly. 

“You know I love you. That’s the problem. I can’t be around you…” 

But that was a lie. Being with Dean made Cas feel lit up inside, even through all the pain.

“I don’t want…”

That would be a lie too. Cas wanted whatever Dean could give him. 

But the thought of watching what remained of his relationship with Dean dissolve into nothing, unable to withstand this new tension between them, made Cas' stomach hurt more than the lack of food. 

He took a breath and tried again.

“I’m not going to stop loving you. Ever. So I need to leave.”

Cas felt tears springing to his eyes at the thought of walking away from Dean. He blinked them away, set his jaw, and kept practicing. 

By the time Dean returned, it was already late in the afternoon. Cas made his march to the kitchen a second time, this time to find Dean bustling around with meat and vegetables and seasonings. 

From the doorway, Cas cleared his throat. 

Dean turned to him, a look of momentary shock on his face. But then he re-focused on whatever task he was busying himself with, and said in a casual tone, “Heya Cas.”

“Hello Dean,” Cas replied, approaching the kitchen island. 

“Gonna make bacon cheeseburgers for dinner, sound good?” Dean said as he unwrapped a package of ground beef into a bowl. 

He glanced up at Cas with a smile. 

Cas felt his resolve crack. He nodded.

“Great!” Dean’s smile turned into a grin. 

Cas chastised himself mentally. Cheeseburgers changed nothing. His task remained the same. 

He reminded himself that he was a soldier, and took a breath.

“Dean…”

Dean’s hands stilled where they were mixing spices into the meat.

“I appreciate…”

Dean looked at Cas with open curiosity. It was the first time since Cas returned that he didn’t seem weighed down with the knowledge of Cas’ confession. 

Cas didn’t want to ruin that. 

“I appreciate the clothes you lent me,” he said. “I didn’t realize how uncomfortable that suit could be.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked up endearingly. “Yeah, well, they look good on you.”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, Dean’s eyes widened fractionally. 

Cas tilted his head, confused at Dean’s expression. 

Dean coughed, and nodded towards a tomato that his face was swiftly turning the colour of. 

“Why dontcha slice that, huh?” 

After that, Dean insisted that Cas stay in the kitchen, ostensibly to "help", though every time Cas offered his assistance, Dean responded with a, "Nah, I got this." 

Cas was beginning to wonder what the point of hanging around was when Dean, in the midst of laying bacon out in a pan, said, "So, uh, after you died…" 

Cas felt his entire body stiffen. Like he'd been caught with his guard down while on a mission. 

"... me, Sam, and Jack were the only ones left…" Dean continued. 

Cas slowly realized that Dean was just filling him in on what he'd missed. 

Relaxing, Cas listened as Dean explained how they defeated Chuck. He felt a burst of pride when Jack dealt the final blow to the old God. Dean’s voice was halting; when he said that they left Chuck powerless in the dirt, he stammered over whatever he was going to say next, turning the trailing end of his story into a cough. 

Cas regarded him curiously. 

Dean started pulling hamburger buns apart to toast them in the pan. 

"Jack said he’s coming back, right?" Dean asked suddenly. 

Cas blinked. "Yeah, he did."

Dean smiled nervously. "Good. That’s good. It’d be nice to see him." 

Cas found himself starting to believe that, maybe, he and Dean might have a chance to be alright. 

"These are really good, Dean," Sam said a few minutes later when he, Dean and Cas were gathered around the kitchen table to eat. 

"Well, I had some help from Cas," Dean said, smiling. 

With his mouth full of food, Cas could only shoot Dean a confused look, instead of ask what he was talking about. 

Dean blushed and took a bite of his hamburger. 

Cas didn’t let the comment distract him from his meal. The combination of melted cheese and seasoned meat were the best thing he had ever tasted. He swallowed it down, and for the first time since returning from the Empty, Cas felt full. 

As he ate, Cas' thoughts slowed, as if his mind had been a runaway machine, unbolted and spinning dangerously, and was now finally running out of steam. He listened to Sam and Dean talk about chores and weapon maintenance, and found that he almost felt content. 

The feeling didn’t stop after dinner. Dean caught Cas by the arm as he rose from the table, insisting he stay, "We haven’t even celebrated yet." Sam cracked open some beers and passed them around. Dean smiled at Cas like it was easy. Sam talked about a potential case he was researching with Eileen, and Dean told a story about a hunt from years back, and it felt like old times. Cas matched Dean drink-for-drink as he listened intently to his tale, appreciating the tilt of his mouth and the glint in his eye when he talked, happy to see that side of Dean again. Cas found his own laughter started to come more easily. His head felt light and dizzy.

Then Sam got up, saying he was tired. 

As he watched Sam walk away, Cas felt his face grow warm. He was suddenly very aware of Dean sitting next to him. Only a few inches between them. 

Cas wondered if he should move now that Sam was gone. Give Dean some space. 

He didn’t want to. 

“So…”

Cas turned to look at Dean. He thought he noticed a nervous breathlessness to Dean’s smile. 

He grit his teeth against his contentment slipping away. And against his growing dizziness. 

“What’re your plans?” Dean asked. 

“Plans?” Cas could hear the trepidation in his own voice.

“Yeah.” 

Dean turned his body towards Cas. 

Cas wanted to shrink away from the attention, but he slouched against the table instead. His head felt very heavy. 

“You’re human,” Dean said. “The world’s an open book. You’re not gonna want to hang around here forever.” 

Cas tasted something bitter on the back of his throat, like dread. He swallowed. “I like it here.”

“Yeah?” Dean accidentally knocked his boot against Cas’ foot. “Why?”

I like you. I love you. 

“It’s home,” Cas said. He frowned at his hands on the tabletop. They refused to come into focus. “This is the only home I have, now.” 

“Of course. But, y’know, if you ever want…”

Cas’ heart fluttered. At one word that implied so much. One that implied Dean was thinking of his final words.

“... anything else, tell me, ‘kay?”

Dean’s boot knocked against Cas’ foot again. 

Cas could hear the soft let-down behind Dean’s words. The offer of anything other than what Cas really wanted.

Dean was a good friend. 

“Whatever you want.” Dean said, voice going soft. “We can make it happen.”

Dean laid his hand on Cas’ arm.

Cas felt his head spin at the touch. He turned to look at Dean. 

Dean’s face was so close. Looking soft, and kind. 

His lips were so close. 

Cas’ head was spinning. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Cas said.

And he did. 

Cas woke up the next day with a crushing pain in his skull. 

He turned his face into his pillow, groaning. 

Then he remembered the previous night. 

Drinking with Dean and Sam. Dean offering him anything else that he wanted. 

Throwing up all over himself. 

Cas groaned again. He considered suffocating himself with his pillow, but it seemed like more effort than he was able to deal with at the moment. 

And he was hungry again. Unsurprising, considering he had puked up his dinner. 

Cursing the body that seemed determined to betray him at every turn, Cas sat up. He looked down at his torso in confusion. Somehow, he had managed to wind up in clean pajamas. 

Brain too foggy to ponder his incongruous state of cleanliness, Cas dragged himself out of bed and slumped out of his room towards the kitchen. 

When he reached the war room, Cas stopped. He imagined himself walking out the bunker door, into the Kansas fields, and never returning. That seemed like it would solve at least some of his problems. 

He went up the stairs to the crow’s nest, out the vault-like door, and into the small arch-ceilinged antechamber -- a box of plain concrete that looked for all the world like the entranceway to a normal power station. He opened the front door. 

It was raining. Sheets of water turned the service road into mud, and created a curtain of white noise that wrapped itself around Cas’ brain like wool. 

Cas sighed. 

He sat on the cold floor, and watched the rain. 

Time passed, enough for Cas to get used to the cool air, but not enough for the throbbing in his head to fade. 

There was so much discomfort that came with being human. Before, he could have walked between the raindrops. Now he had to worry about getting wet, and getting sick, and being alone. 

And there was so much uncertainty that came with being human. Not that he thought he knew everything as an angel, he’d learned that wasn’t true the hard way. But there was so much information that was closed off to him now. So much less for him to rely on. 

For a moment, he thought he heard Dean’s voice from deep within the bunker. But he wasn’t sure if he could trust his own ears. 

Then he heard Dean’s voice, much closer.

"Cas? Cas, you out--"

The bunker door creaked open.

"--here?". 

"Hello Dean," Cas said, continuing to stare into the rain. He didn’t want to turn around, to see whatever look of pity or disappointment was on Dean’s face

But Dean's voice was soft when he spoke. "Hey, I thought you could use this." 

Forced to see what Dean was talking about, Cas turned his head without lifting his gaze to Dean’s face. 

Dean was holding out a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches. 

Cas blinked slowly, and took the plate.  

"Also…"

Dean's hands extended, offering him a bottle of water and some painkillers.

Cas accepted them.

"Thank you."

He swallowed the pills and took a gulp of water. 

Dean didn't leave. Instead he asked, "Mind if I join you?"

Cas finally turned his eyes up to Dean's face. He didn't look pitying or disappointed. Just kind. Like a good friend. 

Cas nodded. Dean sat against the opposite wall. 

For a while, Dean didn't say anything. He watched the rain while Cas ate. Gradually, Cas began to feel less like a walking glob of pain, and more like a person. 

Taking the final bite of his sandwich, Cas snuck a look at Dean. The soft gray light of the rainy day looked good on his thoughtful, distant face. He felt very far away. 

Cas missed the ease that had seemed to exist between them the previous night. But more than that, Cas missed the way things used to be, before the Empty came for him. For all his longing, things were simpler then. Being with Dean was simpler. Cas felt his heart clench at the thought of doing this same dance with Dean forever -- painstakingly rebuilding their relationship until one wrong move sent them flying apart, never able to be as close as they once were. He missed their friendship. 

Finally, Cas set his empty plate on the floor and said, “I’m sorry about last night.”

Dean shrugged. “Happens to the best of us. How you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Cas said, half confession, half massive understatement.  

Dean looked at him, steady and evaluating. Cas wondered if Dean felt responsible for his current state.  

He offered a weak smile in reassurance. “But I’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah…”

Dean dropped his gaze, his fingertips tapping on the concrete floor. 

Nervous, again.

“Cas, listen, I uh, I was wondering…”

Cas tensed up. 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Relief burst over Cas like a popped balloon. "Sure," he answered without a second thought. 

Dean grinned, climbed to his feet, and extended his hand to Cas to help him off the floor. 

After being out in the cool and rainy morning, Dean’s skin felt warm under Cas' touch. Cas didn't want to let go. 

But he did when Dean turned to go inside. 

No longer basking in Dean's smile, Cas began to question his decision almost immediately. After all, what was the point of trying to recapture a friendship that was already fading? It would just highlight how different things were between them now. 

Cas' regret deepened when Dean led him, not to the den, but to his bedroom. 

Cas felt hot, like his skin was on fire. He concentrated on bringing his body under control before remembering that he was fully human and had no influence on involuntary processes. He was doomed to blushing. 

Dean stood in his doorway, and ticked his head to encourage Cas to follow him. Behind Dean, Cas could see the bed, waiting for them. He felt blood rush to other extremities. 

Utterly miserable, Cas followed Dean. 

"We never watched Last Crusade , did we?" Dean asked. He detoured to his desk, and the near-empty whiskey glass sitting there. He finished off the drink, then bent to pull a beer bottle from the six-pack by his bed. 

He offered it to Cas. 

"No thank you," Cas said, his headache still not completely faded. "And no, I don't think we did." 

"Great, you're gonna love it," Dean grinned. An uneasy energy still hung about him. The impression wasn't helped when he cracked open the bottle and took a pull of beer like he needed it for his nerves. He reclined on the bed, pulled his computer onto his lap, and said with a skittish smile, "Come on."

Doing his best to not think arousing thoughts, Cas joined him. 

Dean shuffled closer, so that the laptop balanced between them.

Cas didn't think about how close he was to Dean. He didn't think about Dean’s lips around the mouth of the beer bottle. Instead, he thought about how Dean found it necessary to drink just to deal with being close to him. 

He assumed that after that day Dean would probably never invite him into his room again. Not now that he realized how agitated Cas made him. 

And Dean was clearly very agitated. He tapped impatiently on the side of the computer as the movie loaded up, and kept readjusting the placement of the laptop. 

Cas felt very warm. From the laptop battery against his thigh. From Dean’s body so close to him. 

Cas wanted to wrap himself in that warmth. In Dean. 

He wanted to die. 

"Cas?" 

"Hm?" Cas blinked to awareness. The movie was on pause, and Dean was looking at him with concern. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, of course," Cas said, trying to refocus on the screen. 

"Okay…"

Dean hit play, and relaxed against the headboard.

He relaxed enough to lean his body into Cas. 

The moment they touched, Cas reacted with a jolt like an electric shock. 

Dean stared at him. 

Cas didn’t dare take his eyes off the screen.

When Dean settled again, it was with a healthy few inches between him and Cas. 

Neither of them said a word for the rest of the movie. 

The film ended with a ride into the sunset, and Dean turning to Cas, casually, as if he couldn't feel the tension between them. 

"So--" 

"That was very good, thank you." 

Ignoring Dean’s puzzled expression, Cas rose off the bed and, very stiffly, walked back to his own room. 

Frustrated and mortified, Cas collapsed onto his own bed, and covered his face with his hands. 

He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to live as a human alone in the world. He didn't want to imagine the look of disappointment on Dean’s face, or what Dean would think of him once he'd gone. 

But Cas couldn't live like this. 

He spent the rest of the day planning his escape.

Cas got very little sleep that night. He was awake before the night properly turned into morning, listening for Sam’s long strides in the hallway. When he finally heard Sam pass, Cas counted to thirty, and left his room. 

Cas stepped into the war room just as Sam was starting up the stairs for his morning run. 

"Oh, Sam," Cas said, deliberately casual, as if he hadn't expected to see him. 

Sam paused. "Hey Cas, what's up?”

“Nothing, just woke up early.”

Sam nodded and headed up the stairs again. 

“But while you’re here…”

Again, Sam paused. 

“... could I borrow a credit card?” 

Sam shrugged, pulled out his wallet and walked over to Cas.

Taken off guard by how easily Sam agreed, Cas began explaining his prepared cover story anyways. 

“Dean has been kind enough to share many of his things with me, but there are some, uh, personal items that can’t be shared, and--”

“Dude,” Sam interrupted with a pinched face and a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I don’t need to know. Just take it.”

Cas took the card from Sam’s hand. 

“Thank you.”

He felt a swoop of regret. He’d miss Sam’s friendship.

The few things that Dean had leant to Cas went into a duffle bag. Cas considered making himself some food to take with him, the hollowness in his stomach already making him uncomfortable. But Dean’s sleeping patterns were erratic, and Cas couldn’t risk being caught. 

In the garage, the old blue truck was exactly where Cas had left it, and when he got behind the wheel, he found the key was still in the glove box. 

He held the key, aimed at the ignition. 

He was so close to being gone, being in the wind. Lonely and alone but free. 

He slid the key in. 

Dean would be upset when he discovered he was gone, Cas knew. Dean always tried to hold on to the people around him. Cas planned to message Dean later to let him know why he left, and Dean would probably react with anger. But that would be good -- it would give them a clean break. There would be a distinct “before” for them both to look back on with fondness, instead of a muddled and painful “now”. 

And, in time, Dean would get better. He’d see that Cas leaving was for the best. And maybe, someday, they could be friends again.

It was time for Cas to turn the ignition. 

He didn't do it.

He missed Dean already, the ache in his chest mixing with the ache in his empty stomach. Cas knew he had to leave, he wanted to leave. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Cas sat in his truck, gripped with indecision. Trying to will himself to move. 

Regrets and hopes cycled through his mind. His ribs felt like a too-fragile container for his drumming heart. He hurt.

Cas could have sat there for minutes, or hours. Time had flattened into a single moment of him trying to turn the key, telling himself, Now’s the time to do it. Now’s your chance. Do it. Go.  

But then he heard the door to the bunker rasp open. The sound of boots on concrete.

“Cas?”

He’d waited too long. 

Cas shrunk down in his seat, bit his lip and tried to be quiet. 

Dean kept getting closer. 

“Cas, you in here?”

Cas squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Hey, Sam said-- Cas?” Dean’s voice rose in concern on the last syllable. 

Cas felt the subtle movement of the truck as Dean opened the passenger side door and climbed in. 

Cas didn’t say anything, he didn’t open his eyes. He trembled, and felt painfully hollow, like his insides had been scraped out with a rusty blade. 

“Cas? Hey man, what’s wrong?”

Dean was worried. Cas had known that he’d be worried. He didn’t want to be the cause of it. 

He hadn't thought that he’d be around to see it. 

He covered his face with his hands, and the darkness was vaguely comforting. Cas let himself imagine that this was all an elaborate hallucination, that he was still in the Empty. 

“Cas?” Dean asked again. Like he cared so much. Like he was such a good friend. “Look, I know this can’t be easy. Coming back from the dead’s a mindfuck, and you just lost your powers. But we’re-- I’m here for you. You gotta talk to me, man.”

There was no way around it. Cas would have to explain himself. 

He lowered his hands, and stared ahead, still not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever be back…” he began, intending to lead into an extended apology. 

Dean, however, had other ideas. 

“What, you’d rather be dead?” he interrupted angrily. 

“Dean--”

“Well what am I supposed to think?”

“It’s just…” The lights in the garage suddenly seemed too bright. Cas squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach hurt. “Everything’s different now. It’s hard.”

“Then let me help you.”

Cas couldn’t sense Dean’s emotions anymore, but he could feel his sincerity. He finally looked at Dean, eyes full of regret. “With this, I don’t think you can.”

He watched Dean’s frown slip from frustration to concern. 

“Cas, you know, right…”

Whatever Dean wanted to make sure Cas knew was not forthcoming. Puzzled, Cas sat up and tilted his head.

Dean continued, “that-- I mean… you know, when you… I--I’m trying…”

The more Dean struggled, the more disheartened Cas became, knowing that he was the cause of such awkwardness. 

Finally, Dean exhaled and said, “Everything’s shit when you’re gone.” 

And that, at least, was something for Cas to hold on to. He smiled gently. 

“You…” Dean looked at Cas, vulnerable and open, and Cas couldn’t help but get lost in his gaze. “You’re… You’re my best friend,” Dean said softly, like “best friend” weighed more than family. He swallowed, trembling. “I… Cas… I--I need you. You know I do.”

Cas could feel his resolve to leave draining out of him. “Even now?”

“Of course,” Dean frowned. “I always… Always.”

With that, what remained of Castiel’s resolve was gone. The word “need” hooked behind his sternum and tethered him in place. If Dean needed him, whether as a brother-in-arms or as a friend, then Cas would stay. 

He took a deep breath and nodded, his gaze dropping to the wheel well as he tried not to think about living out the rest of his days in this strange limbo of friendship. 

But then, Cas felt a touch. Fingertips coming to rest on his face. They caressed Cas’ jaw, feather-light.  

Cas was frozen, but his blood turned to steam in his veins. 

His eyes slid up to meet Dean’s gaze. 

Dean blushed. The corner of his mouth ticked up, and he turned his hand to cuff Cas’ chin with his knuckle. 

“Well, uh, good talk,” Dean said.

Synapses in his brain failing to connect, Cas stared at Dean. 

Dean stared back. His blush deepened. 

Then he cleared his throat, shook his head, and clapped his hands on his knees, punctuating the interaction. He got out of the truck, but before he walked away he turned back to Cas and asked in a perfectly casual tone, “You coming in for lunch?”

“In a few minutes,” Cas answered, mouth forming words on autopilot.  

“Good.”

Dean smiled, and Cas couldn’t tell if it was painfully awkward or endearingly genuine, or a mix of both. 

“Good.”

A little while later, Cas wandered into the kitchen. He still wasn’t sure what to make of his exchange with Dean in the garage. But the way Dean nervously bounced around as he plated grilled cheeses told Cas that for all of Dean’s protests, things weren’t normal between them. 

Dean handed Cas a plate stacked with sandwiches. “Hope you’re hungry,” Dean said with a wink.

Cas cringed inwardly at Dean’s over-the-top attempt to appear at ease, which was quickly being undermined by Dean blushing, again. 

“I am, thank you,” Cas said. He took the food, his fingers accidentally brushing Dean’s hand. 

He caught the way Dean’s jaw clenched at the touch, before mumbling “Sorry” and quickly turning to sit down. He joined Sam, who was already eating salad out of a mason jar, at the kitchen table. 

Taking a large bite out of the grilled cheese, Cas tried to focus on the way the food settled in his stomach, making him feel less brittle and strung out. 

“Think I found a hunt,” Dean said, taking a seat across from Cas. “Couple people got mauled to death in Cañon City.”

Sam frowned and shrugged. “I guess that’s enough to go on. What time we leaving?”

Dean waved him off. “Don’t worry, me and Cas’ll take it.”

Cas choked in surprise. “We will?”

“Yeah. It’ll be great. Like…" Dean licked his lips, and didn't finish his sentence. "Yeah.”

Like old times, Cas supplied in his mind. 

Except it wasn’t like old times at all. 

Cas took another bite of the sandwich Dean had made for him. 

Dean grinned too wide for the expression to be anything but forced. 

“We’ll leave in an hour?”

Dean blasted his music as they soared down the highway, wind from the open window ruffling his hair. He looked at home on the open road, his fingers curled loosely around the steering wheel, one arm hanging leisurely out the window. 

Cas was having an incredibly hard time keeping himself from staring. 

Dean didn’t try to make conversation, choosing to hum along with his tapes instead. He appeared casual, but Cas could feel the silence like a yawning gulf between them.

But the advantage of being on a hunt was that it gave both of them a distraction, and a common cause.

“Should we talk about the case?” Cas ventured.

“Nah, we’ll figure it out when we get there.” Dean took his eyes off the road to flash a smile and playfully punch Cas in the arm. “Relax!”

The sunlight glinted off the car, catching in the green of Dean’s eyes. 

Cas spent the next six hours doing anything but relaxing. 

The Super8 they checked into was two stories of stucco, standing out yellow against a mountain backdrop. The room was arrayed in shades of brown and smelled mildly of bleach. 

It wasn’t until stepping inside that Cas realized what hunting with Dean really entailed: Sharing a room with Dean. Being at Dean’s side all day. Hour after hour of pretending to be fine, while waiting for the cracks in their relationship to deepen. 

Cas’ heart clenched in his chest. 

He wanted to walk out the door, and keep walking, and never look back. 

But then Dean was striding past him, heaving a sigh of relief and collapsing on one of the beds. 

“Man, those drives are not getting easier with age.”

“You should’ve let me drive for a while,” Cas found himself offering without a second thought. A second later it occurred to him that it was a pointless offer -- Dean wouldn’t want anyone else behind the wheel of his car. 

“Yeah…” Dean replied, gaze going distant.

 Cas shifted awkwardly on his feet. 

Dean gave his head a shake and grabbed the remote from off the nightstand.

“Come on,” he nodded towards the other bed, inviting Cas to make himself at home. “Let’s see what’s on.” 

That night, Cas lay awake, listening to the sound of Dean’s gentle snores. 

He could imagine Dean’s breath ghosting across the back of his neck. He could imagine the warmth of Dean’s body curling up against him after a long day. He could imagine kissing Dean goodnight. 

Cas’ body responded as if to far more explicit fantasies. 

He hated being human. 

With a stifled groan, Cas crept out of bed and towards the washroom. 

When he stepped into the shower, Cas briefly considered masturbation. But he felt certain that Dean would know somehow, that he’d be able to look at Cas’ face and tell that he’d thought about Dean indecently. 

He turned the shower to cold. 

Cas was not in a good mood the next morning. 

He’d barely slept, and the intimacy of getting ready in the same room as Dean was setting him on edge. Even though he was doing his best not to look at Dean as they changed into their suits, he’d noticed Dean throwing him an uneasy glance more than once. The air felt thick with unvoiced truths. 

Finally, all that was left was to do up his tie. He passed one piece of fabric over the other, and pulled it into a knot. Satisfied with his appearance he turned to Dean, who was fussing with his hair in the mirror (entirely unnecessarily in Cas’ opinion).

“Can we talk about the case now?” Cas asked, eager to get the day, and the hunting trip, over with.  

“Yeah. Of course.” Dean turned from the mirror to Cas, and frowned. 

Cas cocked his head.

Dean took a few steps to stand in front of Cas, and started undoing his tie. 

A steady heat rose through Cas’ body.

“Uh, so a body was found, all mauled up,” Dean explained. 

His fingers brushed Cas’ throat when he did up the top button of his collar. 

Cas swallowed. 

“We’re gonna go, talk to the surviving family, see if anything jumps out as wolfish or ghoulish.” 

When he finished re-tying Cas’ tie, Dean’s hands moved on to straightening his lapels and smoothing the jacket across his shoulders. 

Cas stared at Dean’s lips as he talked. 

“Then hop on down to the morgue, check out the body, put the clues together, bam!”

Dean was smiling at their projected success, the corners of his eyes crinkled up. 

His hands had come to rest on Cas’ arms.

Dean’s smile began to fade, but he didn’t move away. He seemed to lean closer. 

Still staring at Dean's lips, Cas said, “Things are rarely so easy."

Dean huffed a laugh, and stepped away from Cas. He nervously scratched the back of his head, hiding his face.

Cas didn't know what was supposed to be funny. He felt cold. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He grabbed his car keys from off the dresser. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this case.”

They pulled up on the first victim’s block to find an animal control van, and five or six suburbanites being held at bay by a harried-looking official. 

“What’s going on?” Dean asked an older man in a polo shirt. 

“They caught a mountain lion wandering around,” the man said, a note of excitement in his voice. “Apparently it killed someone the other day.”

“Yeah, and they won’t be the last one if you don’t move along,” the official said, glaring at the man, and then at Cas and Dean, as if the entire situation was their fault. 

“Huh, well imagine that,” Dean said as they walked back to the car. He didn’t sound terribly surprised. “Looks like we got the rest of the day off.”

“Great…” Cas replied weakly. 

He spent the car ride back to the hotel worrying and making vague noises in reply to Dean’s comments. The prospect of a day full of tension, of Dean being so close but untouchable, of having to watch Dean’s over-the-top efforts to convince himself that they could still be friends until reality broke over them destroying everything forever, it all pressed down on Cas’ chest like a steel plate, slowly flattening him.  

And Cas knew, once and for all, that there was no avoiding the truth. 

Cas followed Dean over the threshold of their room. He closed the door. 

“We need to talk.”

Dean spun around, attention snapping towards Cas. “What’s wrong?” 

Cas kept his voice even. “I think, on some level, you know.” 

Dean swallowed, all the false ease of the past few days falling away, revealing the agitation underneath. But not just agitation, Cas realized. Fear. Expressing itself as anger that bled into Dean’s voice. “No, I don't. You gotta tell me.”

“We…” Cas started, but the words got stuck in his throat. “Our…” he tried again. He wished he could just fly away. But he had to say it. “Things between us, it’s never going to be like it was before.” 

Dean’s face crumpled in disbelief. “Is that what you want? Like you never--”

“I…” Cas interrupted, struggling with what to say, but needing to prevent Dean from talking about those final moments. “Dean, you… but…” Cas meant to deliver the speech he was practicing a few days ago, to say that he’d leave, that he’d stop making things hard for Dean. Cas meant to say that he knew Dean didn’t like to let go of people, and that his friendship meant everything to him. He meant to say that Dean will soon see that it’s better in the long run for Cas to leave, that he could move on with his life, without the burden of their ruined relationship.

But what came out of Cas’ mouth was, “I miss you.” 

He looked at Dean, and his concern, and his fear, and Cas could only long for the closeness they once had, that was now so out of reach. 

“I miss us.”  

Cas would have thought that his lack of sleep would have subdued the mix of emotions rising inside of him. But his tiredness just made them worse. 

“Cas… Cas, hey…” 

And Cas couldn’t stand to look at Dean anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut, going tense with the effort of holding back all that he felt. 

“I--I’m sorry, buddy.” Dean said. “I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. Fuck.”

Then Dean’s arms were suddenly around him. Before he could even process what was happening, Cas was melting into the embrace. He was enveloped in a feeling of being home that he hadn’t felt since returning from the Empty. 

“You’d think after all this time, something’d be easy about this,” Dean said with an anxious laugh.

The hug was anything but mechanical or perfunctory, but it still ended far too soon. When Dean stepped away, Cas swayed towards him, chasing his warmth. 

Dean patted Cas on the shoulder. 

“Come on, let’s go out.”

Dean’s hand remained on Cas’ arm, fingers trailing up and down his bicep. 

Cas felt like he’d just been put through the spin cycle at the laundromat. 

He felt like he was still spinning.

“Go out?” 

“Yeah.” Dean smiled shyly. “You’n me. Like… yeah.”

If Cas still had his wings, he would have flown away. Gone somewhere to clear his head, get back on solid footing. 

But that wasn’t an option. So he nodded. 

Dean lit up, and he was beautiful

On the drive through town, they’d passed by a record shop. Dean insisted on visiting with Cas, pulling him along as he browsed through the store’s vinyl collection. He went on about the minutiae of classic rock, guitar solos and drum solos and world tours and band break ups. His enthusiasm infected Cas with optimism; Cas couldn’t help but reflect Dean’s smile back at him. 

As they stood in line waiting to pay for Dark Side of the Moon -- Dean had claimed, “This one’s right up your alley, Cas, you’re gonna love it.” -- Cas noticed Dean staring at the used guitars hanging over the checkout. 

At Cas’ inquisitive look, Dean explained, “I knew someone once, tried to teach me to play.”

“You could try to learn again,” Cas suggested. 

Dean regarded Cas thoughtfully. The silence extended long enough to make Cas start to itch. 

“Yeah,” Dean said softly. “I guess I can.”

With a newly-purchased acoustic guitar in the back seat, they drove to the closest dive bar.They ate bar food and talked and played darts and shot pool, falling into a familiar rhythm. Like it was a normal hunt on a normal day -- only without the pressure of a hunt hanging over them. And Dean looked all the lighter for it too, relaxed posture and easy laughter. 

Being the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, the bar was sparsely populated. Which suited Cas fine, since it meant that there was no one for Dean to flirt with, making Cas the sole recipient of his attention.

Cas drank in the experience. Even if things between him and Dean fell apart later, Cas thought it was worth hanging around to share one more happy afternoon. 

A short distance from the bar, a dirt road turned off the street and ran along the Arkansas River. Dean drove up it, parking in a spot where flowers were scattered amidst the long grass, and Cas could hear the river rushing on the other side of the trees. 

Cas was feeling a heady buzz from drinking over lunch. He sat on the hood of the Impala next to Dean, watching as Dean tuned the guitar. The sun picked out highlights in the wood grain of the instrument, and the highlights in Dean’s hair. 

Cas thought he was lucky to have such a good friend. 

Dean arranged his fingers on the fretboard, and gave the guitar an experimental strum. Apparently liking the sound, he strummed a few more times, then changed the chord. He started humming. 

Cas watched the movement of his hands. 

The next chord change, Dean fumbled, misplacing his fingers and pulling at the strings. 

He screwed up his face at the discordant sound. 

“I, uh, I don’t remember much,” Dean said apologetically. 

“I like it,” Cas countered.  

Dean smiled shyly. “Nah, you just like me.”

“That’s true.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Cas knew he’d made a mistake. 

Dean blushed and ducked his head, muttering a curse under his breath. 

Cas turned away and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. 

He’d gotten too comfortable, been careless with his affection. And now Dean was going to apologize, tell him things weren’t going to work out between them after all. 

Cas thought he should have left when he’d had the chance. 

Then he felt a pair of lips press softly against his own. 

He froze. Then jerked back, wide-eyed.

Dean’s face was very, very close.

“Shit,” Dean licked his lips nervously. “Is that okay?”

“What…” 

At Cas’ apparent inability to complete a thought, Dean straightened up, clutching the guitar in his lap. “I, uh, I thought--”

“Why did you do that?” Cas demanded. 

“Why?” Dean shrugged and tried to smile. “I mean, it’s standard first date stuff.”

The sound of the rushing river was nothing to the roaring in Cas’ ears.

“Date?” he choked out. 

“… yeah?”

“This is a date?”

“What’d you think it was?” Dean asked with a level of confusion and agitation that was nowhere close to what Cas was experiencing. 

A hysterical laugh escaped Cas’ mouth before he swallowed it down. “Not… a date .”

Dean’s face bent in a frown. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I-- why would I think it’s a date?” Cas asked urgently, trying to make what Dean was saying match up with reality. 

“I mean…” Dean folded his arms defensively over the guitar. “I asked you out!” 

“We go out as friends.”

“Yeah, but, we’re different now.”

Cas stared. 

He knew things were different. 

That was the whole problem.

“There’s this…” Dean gestured in the space between them. 

The gesture explained nothing. 

Dean exclaimed in exasperation, “You said you love me!” 

“You said I’m your best friend!” Cas answered, matching his tone. 

“Cuz you are!”

Cas shut his eyes and said through grit teeth, “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“What’s not to understand?”

Cas gawked at him. 

“We’ve been--” Dean moved his hand in a churning motion. 

Cas’ gawk became a glare. 

“I’ve been all--” Dean’s hand flailed erratically. 

Cas snapped. “I can’t read your mind, Dean!”

“You couldn’t figure it out?”

“Figure what out?”

“That I love you!”

Being an angel for the vast majority of his existence, Cas had never had an out-of-body experience. But he was having one now. 

He saw Dean, perched on the hood of his car, very attractive and very clearly upset. 

He saw himself, staring numbly. 

He felt numb. 

Cas stood up. He walked a few metres away into the tall grass. He considered screaming. But instead, he sat on the ground. Then he tipped back and stretched out his legs and arms, lying entirely flat. 

He stared up at the sky, a flat, even expanse of blue.  

After about a minute, Dean’s shadow fell across Cas’ face.

“You okay, buddy?”

“No.”

Dean sighed, and sat cross-legged next to Cas. “Come on, talk to me.”

Cas kept his eyes on the sky. “I’m trying to recalibrate my entire understanding of our relationship.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, now you know what it’s like.”

And Cas imagined it. What Dean went through when Cas died. Not as the recipient of unwanted affection. Not the loss of a dear, but ultimately awkward friend.

Cas imagined feeling as he did in that moment, only to have Dean taken away from him. Having to go on, after learning too late that Dean loved him. 

And Dean did love him. 

Dean loves me.

Cas felt a tear slide down his face. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was suddenly wrought with worry. 

Cas turned his face to Dean. He was backlit by the sun, glowing around the edges. 

“You really love me?” 

Dean swallowed, like the question was something to be afraid of. “Yeah.” 

Cas laughed. It was the only thing he could do to let out the bubbling, rapturous feeling inside him. And he cried. 

Dean didn’t smile back. He ducked his head and mumbled, “Man, don’t look at me like that.”

Cas propped himself up on his elbows. "Like what?"

Dean frowned, focused on pulling up the grass by his feet. “Like you’re about to die again.”

“Oh, Dean…” Cas folded his legs under himself and sat up, and reached a comforting hand towards Dean’s face. 

Dean’s hand closed around Cas’ wrist. And he yanked Cas forward, catching him in a furious kiss. 

And Cas was kissing Dean. Their lips slid together, both eager, both demanding. Cas was electrified by every touch, Dean’s hand on his shoulder, on the back of his head. The angle was awkward, so Cas shifted, and then Dean pulled him closer, so Cas tried to move closer still, until he was in Dean’s lap. 

Cas kissed Dean like he was starving, like he would be starving forever, but couldn’t be happier to feel that ache in the pit of his stomach. He kissed Dean like he would never get enough. 

Dean toppled backwards, and pulled Cas with him.

Cas would have continued to kiss him, but Dean started laughing. So Cas just watched the way Dean seemed to glow in the afternoon light. 

When he finally caught his breath, Dean asked, “Why’re we such a mess, Cas?” 

Castiel didn’t have to think too long about his answer. “We’ve been manipulated for years by a petty and capricious god.” He narrowed his eyes, considering. “Also, poor communication skills.” 

Dean chuckled and ran his fingers through Cas’ hair. “So communicate now. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I love you,” Cas said with his whole heart, happily, unafraid, and knowing his feelings were returned.