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Breathlessly, Sam and Dean rush to Cas’ aid, and Dean knows the terror that must be writ across his face; he never learns.
Pushing away never works, pulling close is a death sentence, and with Cas, there’s never any in-between. But he’s known for a long time now that he’d rather have Cas around than not, and so if it’s all or nothing - for Cas? He’s all in.
And he should’ve made that clearer in recent weeks.
He never learns.
Dean and Sam are shouting Cas’ name across the open field behind the barn Cas disappeared around; out in the boonies like this, it’s like the night and woods can swallow up all the sound. It’s like shouting into space; the sound doesn’t even seem to travel anywhere.
Eventually they find him, though, standing in tall grass.
Bodies are scattered across the ground with burned out eyes, and some with heads that appear to have imploded.
Lovely.
And not Dean’s immediate concern.
He sees Cas standing in front of the carnage, splattered with some blood, but otherwise looking okay, if a little uncharacteristically exhausted.
“Cas,” Dean breathes out, running to stand in front of him, “Cas, you okay? I - we saw a flash…”
“I was being swarmed,” Cas tells them both, glancing over at the bodies of shifters, “I deemed you were both a safe enough distance away that I could allow some of my trueform to disable them. It seemed a more efficient method than to use my blade on them all.”
“You look sorta pale,” Dean mentions, nearing him, standing close, wanting to be closer, “are you hurt? You need anything?”
Staring resolutely at Dean, Cas firmly plants his feet down, lifts his chin, and tells him, “… a hug.”
“… what?”
Dean thinks Cas must be joking, but, frankly, Cas isn’t that good at joking, and he looks entirely too serious.
“I don’t feel perfectly well. What will make me feel better is a hug.”
When Dean huffs a half-laugh and rolls his eyes over to Sam, Cas specifies, “from you.”
Face flushing, Dean hates how pleased he is to hear Cas say that.
That’s idiotic, maybe. He’s been blatantly avoidant of Cas lately, and maybe this is just Castiel, the Rebel Angel, calling Dean on his bullshit, because when he sees an immovable object, he becomes an unstoppable force, and he becomes an immovable object when faced with an unstoppable force.
This is just what Cas does.
“… seriously,” Dean says more than asks.
“Yes.”
As if Sam’s surprise-slack face will provide any kind of out, Dean looks to him for help, but predictably is met with a shrug.
Turning back to Cas, whose eyes have not left his face for a second, Dean feels his heart thump hard, and that makes his embarrassingly warm face even warmer, which makes his hackles rise defensively.
Cas doesn’t say anything about Dean’s probably very obviously red face, though; he just stands there, waiting.
Dean doesn’t have any good excuse out of this, not when he’s being asked so directly.
“… God, fine, you little weirdo,” Dean mutters, stepping up close to Cas to take Cas into his arms.
Cas has this habit of hugging Dean around the neck, and, being that Cas is just a smidge shorter than Dean, it forces Dean down a little bit, maybe just an inch, but it makes Dean feel… big.
It occurs to Dean in this moment that Cas maybe does that on purpose; he knows Dean, he knows Dean more intimately than any other being would or could, and not in the academic sense - he doesn’t know all of Dean’s funny one-liner’s or embarrassing childhood memories, but he knows the fabric of Dean’s soul.
He knows the often times contradictory and paradoxical desires that make up Dean’s impossible dreams; he knows Dean wants to feel big and strong, and Cas is a giant in that vessel - he’s stronger and larger than what Dean can fathom, and he hugs Dean around the neck, as if to make himself smaller. As if to give Dean a moment of feeling like he’s the one protecting Cas.
Cas does that now; his arms loop around Dean’s neck, and Dean’s hands waffle near Cas’ sides for a second, but then plant themselves as Dean inwardly chants to himself that this isn’t awkward (which is probably making it awkward).
After a few beats, he pats Cas’ back to signify the end of the hug, but Cas doesn’t pull away.
Cas stays right where he is, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s hurt Cas’ feelings by avoiding him this long.
Oh, Dean thinks to himself, I was just thinking about myself again. I do that too much. Fuck. Did you think I wasn’t happy to see you when you came back to us? I could’ve leapt to the fuckin’ Moon when I saw you standing there, Cas, you stupid son of a bitch.
A little more repentant now, Dean slithers his arms more securely around Cas’ waist, gives him a proper embrace even as his hands start to shake, and he hears Cas sigh happily; Cas making that sound of relief is instant dopamine to Dean.
Their chests are pressed together, Dean thinks Cas can feel his heart beating harder than usual, but he tries not to mind Cas knowing; Cas would probably know even if Dean were at the bottom of the Atlantic.
“‘m sorry,” Dean mumbles quietly behind Cas’ ear, “… I’m sorry, Cas.”
“There is no need to apologize,” Cas assures him, his arms tightening, keeping Dean close, a hand coming to the back of Dean’s head, “I missed you very much, Dean.”
Beyond Dean’s control, tears well up in his eyes - he did miss Cas. He missed Cas more than he can safely say. He missed Cas so much, he wanted to fucking die.
He missed Cas and Cas doesn’t even know, he doesn’t get the scope of it, he probably wouldn’t believe it even if Dean were to try and explain it (with words he is very sure he doesn’t possess), because Dean’s spent weeks avoiding him, arguing with him, never happy with Cas staying or going.
They curl more into one another, slotting into place like puzzle pieces, and Dean’s hands smooth across Cas’ back, feeling at the broad strength of him, dragging that holistic comfort into him like he could shove Cas into his ribcage and put him there for safekeeping.
I’d quit hunting, Dean thinks to himself, nonsensically imagining Cas small enough to fit nestled next to his heart, I’d never put my life in danger again. I’d keep you right there, and I’d wear chest armor and I’d keep you safe with me, right there, forever. Part of me, where you belong, where I could protect you.
Dean knows that’s fucked up and codependent of him or whatever, but Cas never minds those fucked up parts of him. Cas is never fazed by how sick in the head Dean is, he barely ever bats an eye.
Even now - Cas isn’t letting go. He’s staying as long as Dean will keep him, and Dean knows he’s unwell, he knows his attachment issues are off the charts, but God, there’s such a profound comfort in the thought that as long as Dean keeps him, Cas isn’t inclined to stray.
If Dean doesn’t want to pull away, Cas won’t, because he wants however much Dean wants - or however much Dean is willing to take.
All this pent up, unspent tenderness rises up in Dean; he feels stupidly sentimental, protective, and much too comforted.
The soft shush of their hands moving across clothing, the light scrape of Cas’ dull nails across the nape of his neck, how they breathe in tandem, never pushing one another away even by a centimeter; it’s a sedative like Dean can’t remember last having.
I missed you. I missed you like crazy, Cas, Dean thinks at Cas, pulling away in this slow, syrupy way that doesn’t actually indicate he wants to stop touching Cas, and Cas actually picks up on that subtle cue and keeps Dean in his arms, though loosely enough to let Dean’s nose trail across his stubbled cheek.
Up this close, there’s the smell of Cas, his vitals there for Dean to track, to keep count of, to let lull him into a dream-like state of calm.
He doesn’t mean to kiss Cas.
It’s like he’s sleepwalking; dazedly, he just turns his head, lets his nose and lips drag across Cas’ face, and he naturally slots into place there. He kisses Cas because Cas is there to kiss, and it only makes sense. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.
Not a single thought is crossing Dean’s mind when he does it. His eyes are shut, he’s breathing in deeply, moving his lips just so, sleepy, lazy, even. He doesn’t know where his hands are. He’s floating.
His tongue is met with zero resistance, his blood flashes hot across his body, his dick twitches with interest, and it’s like his whole body is thrumming with; Cas, Cas, Cas, smell of Cas, sound of Cas, taste of Cas, feel of Cas, Cas close, Cas good, Cas safe, Cas mine, safe with me, in my arms, need to touch, need to protect, missed him, love him, love him…
Something Dean does with his tongue in Cas’ mouth makes Cas’ breath hitch, and that’s when Dean’s frontal cortex comes back online and he realizes he is kissing Castiel on the mouth.
As if he’s stuck a fork in an outlet, Dean flies backwards, scrambling away from Cas, realizing with mounting terror what he’s just done.
His heart rate ratchets up, his stomach twists into knots, he remembers Sam is right fucking there, and he looks over at Sam, who’s looking at him in shock - having known each other all their lives, they have one simple exchange in silence.
Sam’s face says, I can’t believe you just did that!
Dean’s face replies, panicked, this is why I was keeping my distance. This is why I wouldn’t touch him. This is why I wasn’t supposed to touch him.
Sam’s face falls - Dean can’t tell who he feels sorry for, but either way, he hates it.
Too scared now to look back and see the state of Cas, Dean silently begs Sam, … what have I done?