Work Text:
Jack brings him back on a Thursday.
When Castiel comes back, he doesn't try to hug Dean. Though it feels like the natural thing to do, considering it’s the first thing he’s done every time he’s come back from the Dean.
This time is different. This time, Dean knows.
Castiel immediately knows that nothing is the same as it was before. Not a single thing. The air is thick in the bunker, but he shouldn’t be surprised considering only two people live here now. The man he’s in love with and his overgrown brother. Before, those two people were the only ones he needed. Now, as he stares into Dean’s wide eyes, he's debating why he’s even been brought back at all.
“You’re back,” Dean breathes, stock-still.
He raises his arms out to the side slightly, like he's showing himself off. But the truth is, he’d much rather hide within his coat and keep himself bundled up as tightly as possible, just so Dean couldn’t look at him. “I am,” he says, and tries not to sound upset about it.
He doesn’t think it works, because Dean’s eyebrows furrow slightly, like he’s trying to dissect why the air feels the way that it does. Dean’s gaze feels like a power drill to his senses.
He seems to eventually disregard it, because he rushes forward and throws his arms around Cas’ shoulders. How can he bear to touch me? Cas thinks. Knowing that I burn for him, truly and reverently?
Cas can’t even bring himself to raise his arms. He lets Dean hug him, because he would never push him away. But his arms stay firmly at his sides, afraid to touch. In Purgatory, he hadn’t hugged Dean because he didn’t deserve to. To touch Dean now would be to violate him, especially now that Dean knows about his love. He must be burdened with it, suffering with knowledge of it during Cas’ absence.
Though, Dean never really fully appreciated people until they were gone. Maybe this is one of those moments. Like when he had held on to Cas’ trenchcoat after the Leviathans dragged his body into the open water. Or maybe, even a creature as old as Castiel must lie to themselves like a child. Regardless, Dean’s body is solid and warm against his, but he doesn’t let himself bask in it. He tries not to covet, but he doesn’t know how to stop. It’s all he knows, and he doesn’t even know when it began.
Maybe it began when he was created, or when Dean was. Maybe that was always his destiny, to fall in love with the one person who could never love him back. Maybe his Father stood tall and cruel over the Earth and decided that there wasn’t yet a creature born in misery, and decided that Castiel should be the first.
If he truly was created for Dean, wholly and selflessly, then the universe truly does hate him. Dean gives him one final squeeze before letting go.
Cas is weak, so he lets himself analyze Dean’s face. His eyebrows are dipped in worry and his eyes are wet, but Cas isn’t sure why he’d ever be happy to see him. Not after everything. Not after he’d reached through his diaphragm and pulled out his soft innards to hand to Dean before being pulled away, so far that he could never find him.
Cas couldn’t even sense him when he was in the Empty. There’s a connection between them, an unbreakable link between Dean’s soul and Cas’ Grace. He can always sense Dean’s soul, bright and incomprehensible. It curls around Cas’ Grace like a gentle hug, and being without the comfort of his friend's soul had felt so painfully lonely. His Grace had cried out like a child, and he let it wail.
“Cas, are you okay?”
Forced out of his thoughts, he has to control himself not to startle at his friend’s concerned rumble.
He doesn’t know how to answer. Cas doesn’t even feel real . He’s standing there in his now oversized coat and stares at the Righteous Man like he’ll never see him again and he is helpless to these circumstances. He’s so, so tired. But still, he dips head slightly and tries to school his expression as best as he can. “Of course,” he says flippantly, like it doesn’t pain him to even be in this plane of existence. He can see the way that Dean is trying to hold himself together, trying to act casual even when he wants to jump out of his skin. Why, though, is a different question.
“I’m just… a little tired,” he says. It’s a lie, of course. He’s gotten more sleep in the last six months than he’s gotten throughout his extremely long life. The thought of closing his eyes and resting makes him feel sick. Perhaps, it is his essence that is tired and not his body. He doesn’t know how to separate them anymore.
But still, he needs a good lie to tell, one that Dean won’t question.
“Yeah no, of course. Jeez, I can imagine.” Dean seems clumsy with his movements, looking around the room suddenly like there’s something specific he’s missing. He claps Cas on the shoulder, smiling and shaking his head. “God, I missed you, man.”
Cas’ heart stutters. His breath catches, and though he tries to ignore the warmth in his chest, it burns brightly throughout his vessel and pours out through his ears. He doesn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want him to think that the sentiment is one sided. “I missed you too, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes crinkle, but his eyes flit away to the other side of the room. Cas’ head turns away like he’s been punched. This is why he shouldn’t say anything. Everything has such a different connotation now. He feels shame pool deep in his gut, and wishes he never said anything. He reprimands himself, mentally slapping his own wrist. He knows better. He takes a step back.
There is so much love held within the confines of Castiel’s vessel. If it was meant to be released, the subject of Castiel’s affection would be equipped to handle it without grimacing. But he isn’t. So instead, he flees.
“I think I’ll rest for a little while,” Cas says, trying not to sound as embarrassed as he feels. “In my room.”
He’s not completely sure why he feels like running away. He thinks he’s scared of Dean’s judgment, or maybe Dean’s anger.
Both of those are wrong. He’s scared of Dean’s disgust. He’s scared of Dean looking at Cas one day, and sneering. He’s scared that Dean will realize the lengths Cas had gone to for Dean, and finally realize that Cas has been this devoted for years. Nothing is new, and Cas is still the same peculiar insect he was when he was created.
Insignificant as he is, he was born of devotion. That, he believes, was the beginning of his downfall.
“Alright,” Dean obliges. He raises his hand in a weirdly formal way, like he’s trying to show Cas the direction of his room. It’s clumsy, but endearing. Cas knows where his room is, he’d planned to hide out in there immediately after greeting Dean. He should’ve known it’d be this awkward.
If he stayed dead, he wouldn’t have had to deal with the aftermath of his confession. He would’ve died knowing the burden of his secret was lifted off his shoulders, and that he saved Dean with it in the process. By saving Dean, he’d saved the world. The world needed someone born of glory, of righteousness. If the man he loves is capable of what Castiel believes him to be, then he who he covets shall prosper over evil. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
Nevertheless, he’s back.
And facing the consequences of his actions has been the worst thing he’s ever had to do in his extremely long life.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Dean says kindly. Dean’s hands are shaking, Cas doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why Dean seems so distressed, why he’s tripping over himself like this. Regardless, Cas just nods his head like he always has, and tries to keep his head on straight.
Maybe it’s the stubble on his face that’s repulsive, or the hefty muscle adorning his limbs. He’s not sure. All he knows is that, despite his efforts, he’s trapped inside of a body that Dean could never be attracted to. He doesn’t bother trying to change. There’s no hope for him either way.
It would be a dishonor to Jimmy Novak’s memory to change vessels now, so like this he shall stay. He used to be utterly indifferent to the way he looked. But now, with the man he loves staring back at him, he wishes he had chosen someone with beauty worthy of someone like Dean.
“Of course,” Cas says. He has no plans of doing that. He doesn’t even consider it. What he needs is to be put back into whatever rift he dragged himself out of. What he needs is to be euthanized like an inconvenient dog and tossed out into the emptiness of the woods where not even Dean (or God, for that matter) can find him. What he needs is for Dean to love him.
He can’t have any of those things, so instead, he hides out in his room.
He rushes out of the Bunker’s main room and into his bedroom and ignores that the entire thing is coated in a layer of dust. It’s not surprising to him that nobody’s been in here since he died, considering he himself didn’t spend that much time in it when he was still alive.
He brushes some of the lint off his nightstand, and ignores the way it catches on his fingers. The sensation is strange, and he rubs his fingers together just to feel it. He feels so hollow.
He wishes he could fall asleep, just for the slim chance that he’d pass while unconscious. It’d be a bit less subtle to spontaneously combust, although he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t yet prayed for it.
Sleeping would be a bit nicer if he was capable of dreaming. That way, he’d have a way to see Dean holding onto him after they wake up together in the morning.
Maybe Dean would smile at him, or gently peck his lips before saying: “Morning, sunshine.”
Maybe he’d fix the collar of Cas’ dress shirt or ruffle his hair to put it back in place. Maybe he’d tell Cas he loves him, maybe he’d act like he does. Maybe Cas would, for once, feel like he has a real purpose.
Perhaps that’s unfair. Maybe his purpose is to be a friend, or even a father. Maybe his purpose was to assist Sam and Dean in saving the world. Maybe his purpose was to burn bright like a blinding supernova. Do as much as he could in however much time had, then explode.
Maybe his purpose is to love, and never be loved in return.
So Cas stays in his room, and quickly loses track of how long he’s stayed hidden behind the taunting wood of his bedroom door. There’s so many things he needs, but of course, he doesn’t tell Dean. Telling Dean had been what killed him.
Cas rots away in his room, and he doesn’t say a single thing. He decays quietly, the way he was always supposed to.
The first day goes by slowly.
Castiel is used to waiting for long periods of time, putting his body into stasis and waiting for his name to be boomed into his ears by Heaven’s incessant and combative speakers. “Return to your post, Castiel.” Or, “wait for instruction, Castiel.”
When they renamed him, they freed him from the shackles of Heavenly light that had carved themselves into his bones and interweaved their way into his wiring. Or at least, that’s what he had thought. Instead, his family had followed him, ruining the lives of those he loved and stripping away his wings. His love for Heaven feels like the love one might have for the rain, or the soil.
There’s nothing profound about the acknowledgment that everything Cas has ever done to try to better the world has failed. There is nothing poetic about the way he takes up space. There is nothing Holy or divine about the way he anchors down everyone around him. There is nothing symbolic about the fact that he was better off dead.
Dean stops by his room a couple times. He knocks and asks if Cas is okay, but leaves when he gets no response. It’s like that for a little while, but Cas doesn’t really know how long. Sometimes, he can sense Dean standing at the door for several minutes, like he’s debating whether or not he should just break the door down and come inside. Cas can sense how beautiful he is, without even seeing his face.
Castiel cannot be beautiful. He cannot covet, he should not want, and yet he does. He does everything he shouldn’t do, and nothing that he should. He hides from Dean for what feels like weeks. He does not open his door.
He doesn’t need to eat or drink, so technically, he could stay in his room forever and never die. But if he did that, he’d never see Dean again. It’s a hard decision, but eventually, the rational side of him wins out and he decides he’ll leave his room. Just, not today.
Even just walking feels difficult, despite how strong he’s supposed to be. Most of his Grace has been restored, but he still feels so, so weak.
His love for Dean is painful. It has nowhere to go, and it sits painfully in his chest no matter what he does. He tried to stop it, he really did. But, just like everything else, he failed.
Castiel would not be content with relieving himself of it. If he cannot love Dean Winchester, he should not exist.
Castiel doesn’t leave his room until the fourth day.
Despite making the choice to leave his room, he isn’t quite sure where to go. He eventually settles on the kitchen, hoping that some time at the kitchen table will clear his head. He knows it won’t. He’ll probably be reminded of when Jack died, or maybe he’ll be reminded of one of the many times he and Dean were fighting. They’d walked past each other in the kitchen without saying a word.
Cas had slightly cherished that time, because even then they had seemed like an old married couple. He didn’t like that Dean was upset with him, though. That has never changed. But there’s nothing Castiel can do to escape Dean’s anger, even he knows that. He wasn’t meant to be understood. He was created for Dean, even if it meant being his punching bag.
When Dean had almost killed him, he’d grabbed Cas’ tie and raised the blade high above his head. Cas had begged, then.
Not for Dean to spare his life, but for Dean to hold on to him just a little bit longer. If he was going to die, it would’ve been nice for him to feel Dean’s touch first. He’d closed his hand around Dean’s wrist and prayed that it would be enough to snap Dean out of it. He still doesn’t know if he succeeded.
Instead, he ended up laying there for hours after, staring at the ceiling and breathing as hard as his lungs would let him. He wonders if his Father was watching. He wonders if his Father would’ve let Dean kill him.
Afterwards, he was reluctant to heal himself. Erasing the evidence of Dean’s hands gracing his skin felt blasphemous, even to him.
He scouts around for a second, but doesn’t see anyone. He drags himself into the kitchen. He sits himself down at the table and places his heavy head in his hands. He’s been in the same place for so long that even his coat is slightly dusty. It doesn’t tickle his nose or make him want to sneeze, but it does make him want to crawl into a hole and let moths eat at his coat. At least then, someone is benefitting from the way he’s let himself go.
He knows what it is to be a parasite. To feed off those around you and wait for them to realize you’re doing them more harm than good. He fed off of Claire Novak’s abandonment, he’d fed off of Dean’s trust, and he’d fed off of Sam’s hospitality. He never got full, because he thought it meant they loved him. He knows this to be untrue, now.
There is one thing Castiel knows for sure. There’s always an expiration date to peace. This, he knows. Eventually, Dean will fire off a rogue bullet that’s likely to land directly between Cas’ eyes. Of course, he knows that.
He’d once asked Dean if he would rather have peace or freedom. Cas hadn’t even known his own answer, then. But now, he knows what he would choose. He would choose peace in a heartbeat, because even in manacles chained to the bunker’s walls, at least it would be with he who he loves.
And of course, because he’s never safe, Dean stumbles through the kitchen’s entrance. Cas abruptly stands like he’s been caught doing something he’s not meant to be doing. “Cas,” Dean breathes.
Cas stares for a moment, caught off guard. He lets out a single breath, and tries not to pray for it to be his last.
He timidly greets Dean. Dean stares back, swallowing. He takes a step forward.
And Cas, because he can never quite dig his own grave deep enough, tries to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs. There is nothing left for him here. He cannot fly away.
Dean grabs at his arm, pulling him back and squeezing. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Cas tugs, but doesn’t allow all of his strength to guide the motion. He wouldn’t want to hurt Dean. “Let me go,” he says weakly. His voice sounds like ground gravel. Though he doesn’t need it, he thinks he could down a whole gallon of water. “Just let me-“
“No,” Dean spits, grabbing a hold of Cas’ shoulders and spinning him around so he’s facing him. “Look at me, you bastard.”
Cas flinches at the look on his face. Dean’s eyes are stern with disapproval and anger, and it makes Cas want to duck his head. It makes him want to cower, mostly because he knows how bad he looks. He knows he must be weary, a sore sight for someone as beautiful as Dean Winchester.
Dean moves a hand to the front of Cas’ shirt, balling his fist and pulling Cas closer. “What are you thinkin’, huh? Tryin’ to let yourself fossilize in there?”
Cas pulls back, wrapping a gaunt hand around Dean’s wrist, weakly tugging. “Dean, please-“
Dean scoffs. Cas wrenches back like he’s been slapped. “‘Please,” he says. “Do you know how worried I’ve been about you?”
Warmth wants to bloom in Castiel’s chest, but he does not let it.
Don’t get excited, he mentally scolds himself. Him not wanting to be alone doesn’t mean he loves you.
Cas looks away, his chin shaking with grief. Dean lessens his grip. The change in tone is giving him emotional whiplash, and he tries to ignore the way his Grace flares under his skin. Dean’s soul twists within its confines.
He could launch Dean off of him right now, send him careening into the closest wall with the same force used to flick an ant off of a pant leg.
Castiel’s love for Dean has too often manifested itself through violence. He doesn’t want it to be violent anymore.
“C’mon, man.” He says, pained. “I know you’ve been goin’ through something. And I’ve been tryin’ to give you space. But you can’t let yourself rot away in there, Cas.”
To them, ‘going through something’ is almost dying, or literally the end of the world. Castiel’s world is not ending. It just feels like it is.
So he doesn’t say anything.
There is no point in telling Dean about the turmoil churning inside of him. There is nothing he can do. After all, you cannot force yourself to love something that wasn’t built to be loved.
His eyes well up with tears. He’s so tired. Why did his son bring him back at all? For this? To face the humiliation of being so unlovable, that he shakes with the anger of it? There is no one to cradle him, so the soil must do it for him.
“I just got you back,” Dean says, his shaking hands matching his voice. “Please, Cas.”
It’s now that Cas chooses to really look at him.
His eyes are swollen and sunken in like he’s barely slept, his face is pale, and his eyebrows are pulled together in a constant frown. He grits his teeth like he’s trying to will Cas to listen. His hands shake like he’s horrified.
Every time Cas has come back from the dead, Dean has seemed fine. Almost unperturbed at the loss of his best friend, if Cas can even call himself that. Why should Dean be upset if Cas spends a little extra time in his room? Why should he be upset if Cas’ vessel is growing unkempt? He would not be attracted to it even if it wasn’t. There is no point.
“I’m not going through anything,” Cas lies. He lies through Jimmy’s teeth, and he can feel his eyelashes growing wetter. “I’m not, I- you don’t understand. Just let me go, and-“
“You’re lying!” Dean exclaims, desperately. “You’re- You’re imploding or- or something, but I won’t let you. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”
He punctuates his words with harsh tugs to Cas’ shirt, but Cas finally wrenches himself free. “I- I cannot do this right now,” he says, distressed. He turns around, trying to march back to his room and forget this ever happened.
He might as well be trapped in a ring of Holy Fire, because even that would feel less containing than the bunker’s walls do right now.
Dean just follows him down the Bunker’s halls. “Why’re you avoiding me, huh? Was it something I said?”
Cas doesn’t turn around to look at him as he races back to his room. He spares a glance upward, hoping Jack can sense his longing the way he can’t sense Dean’s. Why won’t his son save him from this humiliation, this embarrassment? What did he do to deserve this shame? “No, Dean, just let it go!”
“You mean you want me to let you go, and that’s not happening!”
Cas rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he continues walking. His coat flares out by his knees, and he wants nothing more than to wrap it around himself like a child’s security blanket. “Don’t be dramatic, Dean.”
Cas can hear Dean slap his thighs in frustration. “ Dramatic? Fine, let’s just talk, then!”
They both keep walking, and Cas tries to ignore his new shadow. Petulantly, he doesn’t respond, and he hears Dean growl low in his throat.
He can sense Dean’s soul writhing around within his body, and he knows that whatever comes out of his mouth next will be enough to cripple him.
“I thought you were in love with me, asshole. Why’re you avoiding me?”
It’s then that Cas stops.
There is no amount of introspection that can save him from the knowledge that there is nothing that can be fixed here. He placed his heart in Dean’s hands and he wiped them on his pants. Now, when Dean looks at him, he wonders if he sees every other failed relationship he’s ever had.
He wonders if he sees Jo’s pale face, or maybe Lisa’s white hospital gown. Maybe he just sees his best friend, matching Delilah in his betrayals. Cas’ wings twitch where they rest in an alternate plane.
He wonders if Dean sees the failure he knows himself to be.
Despite his shortcomings, suddenly, he is angry.
When he whirls around, Dean’s eyes widen with fear. Dean stops in his tracks as quickly as they started. His soul stiffens.
“Do not mock me with your knowledge of my affections, Dean.” He spits out every syllable like it’s pestiferous in his mouth. “I am avoiding you because I know I won’t be able to tolerate your inevitable rejection. I get it, I am worthless! You’d never even consider someone like me for a romantic partner. I know!
“ Haven’t you considered that there is nothing that could make this easier for me? Nothing that can absolve me of this? You cannot love me. I know that, you know that. I am letting myself rot in that room because it is unbearable to look at you and know that I am- I’m- I’m nothing!
“ I am the most flawed creature in the Universe, I am the most pathetic of my Father’s creations. It is not that I am trying to hurt you, it is that I hurt simply knowing that I cannot have you! And what’s worse, is that you know! You know how I feel, and now you will see it in everything I do and it’s- it’s humiliating! I could grovel at your feet and it would mean nothing! I would kneel and bow my head for absolution and receive nothing!”
He pants, tears pouring down his face and a headache forming at the tension in his pounding skull. Dean’s stunned silent, staring at Cas like he doesn’t even know him.
Cas lets out a bitter laugh, almost a scoff.
“I can’t- I can’t exist like this. God, I-“ He shakes his head, knowing whatever he says next will crumble Dean with its honesty. “I wish Jack never brought me back.”
Dean reels back so harshly, Cas wants to assume that a ghost has shoved him. He’s been dead to Dean before. Now, he’s starting to feel dead to himself. He can sense the panic starting up in Dean’s chest.
Dean’s eyes search his face like he’s looking for the Angel that pulled him out of Hell with his bare hands. Cas doesn’t feel like that same Angel. He doesn’t feel like the righteous soldier who put Dean back together with his bare hands. He doesn’t feel like his savior. He doesn’t feel like a friend.
It’s now that Cas realizes what he’s done. He’s come back, and he’s complicated everything. He’s hurt Dean again, for nothing. All because he couldn’t keep his petty little emotions in their place. He lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. He looks upward, muttering a curse in Enochian before making his decision.
He’s a coward, and he is prideful. He cannot face what he has done, so he turns around, and he continues walking back to his room.
Every step feels so effortful, like the Earth has chosen to alter his center of gravity. He speeds around the corner and rushes to shut the door, praying that Dean will finally leave him alone. His hands shake with fear.
Dean’s hand slams into the door from the other side, shoving it back open and sending Cas stumbling backwards. The sewn hems of his trenchcoat threaten to split, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to prevent that from happening.
Dean stalks towards him, an almost murderous look on his face.
Despite himself, he stumbles backward, his heart pounding harshly in his chest. While he knows that Dean couldn’t hurt him much while he’s still an Angel, he is still scared. He does not know why.
Cas’ takes small steps back with what he knows is probably a pathetically repentant look on his face. His fingers twitch with the want to put all of this back together, but it is too broken. “Dean…” he begs, trying to placate him.
He is afraid. He hasn’t been this afraid since Metatron told him Dean was dead. His blood is ice and his lungs are still.
Cas feels out for the wall with one of his hands, growing more anxious when they don’t come in contact with one. Dean’s eyes are blazing, dark where they’d normally be enchantingly bright.
Dean takes a step forward, and Cas’ back finally hits the wall.
“Stop running, you cowardly bastard.”
Cas flinches, ducking his head and staring at a cobweb in the corner of his room. He knows it’s pathetic, he truly does. But if Dean cannot see why he is breaking apart, he is blinder than Cas thought. His chin wobbles despite himself.
Cas regrets everything. He regrets being brought back at all. The grass was not greener on the other side. It has been spray painted. None of it is real.
There is nothing he can do to fix this. It is not a challenge to God, it is simply fact. Jack, he prays, desperately. Please just bring me with you.
But it’s now that Cas realizes who he is, and he raises his head and tries to stare challengingly into Dean’s eyes. It must not work, because Dean does not look away.
Dean cannot want him. He’s sure that Dean just wants someone he doesn’t have to raise, someone he doesn’t need to kiss. Cas can be that for him. He can be useful, but he cannot be brittle.
Despite how breakable he feels when graced by Dean’s presence.
“Dean,” Cas tries, his hands pushing into the wall behind him. “I didn’t mean it, please believe me-“
Dean slams his hand down on the hollow wood of Castiel’s nightstand, and Cas does not flinch. Dean’s anger is so familiar that he wears the red coloring his soul like he would an old flannel. His words hurt more than his actions.
He just wishes it didn’t hurt so much, wishes that it wasn’t him who shattered Dean so thoroughly.
“You’re a liar,” Dean spits. His hands are red from punching the splintered wood. Normally, Cas would heal it, but Dean would probably rather die than let Cas touch him. “You knew what you were doing, you knew full well! You meant every word. You want to die. If you’re gonna say it, own up to it, goddammit!”
Cas peels himself from the wall, lifting his hand to point at Dean accusingly.
“You brought it up, Dean.” Cas snarls at him, attempting to deflect as hard as he can. Maybe if he can convince Dean that he’s not at fault, he will love him again. Maybe he could pretend like Castiel didn’t ruin them the second they walked into that dungeon. “Don’t act like you have no part to play in this.”
Dean throws his hands up, looking at the ceiling like it will provide him with guidance. “I just wanted you to stop running from it. Stop running from your own feelings, stop running from me!”
Cas wrenches his head away, intransigent. “Don’t ask that of me,” he begs. He can’t stop running from his feelings. They’ve killed him before, they will do it again. “How can I go back to the way things used to be? How can I act like I didn’t…”
He cuts himself off. His thoughts are racing so harshly through his brain and his hands shake with adrenaline. He was dead. He should’ve stayed dead. At least this way, Dean wouldn’t be burdened with his unresolved issues and his withering self-deprecation.
If he stayed dead, he wouldn’t have had to cope with the knowledge that Dean does not love him. He knows. He knows. There is nothing he can do.
“Cas,” Dean begs, trying to pull out all the stops. Cas doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at him. “ Castiel,” he grits out, a little more impatiently this time.
Cas feels bashful at the way all of his emotions have poured out within the last hour. Everything has happened so fast, he feels like he can’t catch up. He’s poured out most of his innermost thoughts and feelings, and it’s now that he remembers why he’d locked himself in his room to begin with.
His eyes flicker over to Dean’s, where he’s immediately captured by how beautiful they are. He peers at Dean through his eyelashes.
“I’m sorry, Dean.”
If there’s anything Cas knows how to do, it’s apologize. He knows that he’s in the wrong more often than not, and that Dean is just trying to look out for him. Castiel is regretfully ungrateful.
He overthinks, he overfeels, he overloves.
Dean finally softens, a mournful look crossing his features. Longing pours off of him in waves now, but Cas doesn’t know what he could be longing for. He’s right here.
“Cas, Jesus.” He rubs roughly at his eyebrows, like he’s trying to smooth away a headache. “I know you’re struggling, Cas. But I’m- I’m not upset. I’m not angry with you.”
Suspicion lodges itself between his ribs. The irritated skin on Dean’s hand seems to say otherwise. “You… aren’t?” He asks dubiously.
Dean’s head lowers and his shoulders shake. “I… I wanna be,” he whispers. “I wish I could be.”
Cas shakes his head. “I- I don’t understand.”
Dean finally seems to grow tired of fighting. He walks tiredly over to Cas’ bed and sits at the foot. He slumps. “It would be easier. It would be easier than whatever this is.” He throws his hand out in a frustrated gesture. Cas stays frozen where he stands.
He fiddles with the end of his trenchcoat slightly, his feet glued to the ground. “You’re supposed to be angry.” He says meekly. “You should be angry.”
“Maybe… maybe I was before. When I was frustrated because I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I thought that I had done something, or-“
“No, Dean- This isn’t your fault-“
“-Yes it is, Cas.“
Cas should’ve known that Dean would blame himself. He always does, and all Cas has succeeded in doing is making his love feel worse.
Dean cuts in tiredly, like he wants nothing more than to stop talking but he has no choice. Like he needs to make this known before he burns out. “It is my fault. If I haven’t tried enough to make you feel wanted, then that’s my fault.”
Cas falters, stuttering for a moment. Dean does not want him. Dean tolerates him and appreciates the utility that Cas can provide him. Wanting… wanting is different. “It’s not about want, Dean. It’s about…”
Cas cuts himself off, realizing he’s getting awfully close to his deathbed confession that he’s refused to talk about.
Dean just raises an eyebrow at him.
“It’s about… just being.” He finishes, extremely pained. It feels like broken glass. He feels like he’s waiting for black and only tendrils to rip him away from his love again, stripping him of his divinity. He is only divine when in Dean’s presence. He is only Holy when Dean’s eyes can be the color of the stained glass in his chapel.
Dean looks away, looking equally pained. “Yeah.” He says, bereft. He almost looks incredulous. “Being.”
Cas takes a step closer, his shadow casting over the tired lines of Dean’s face. “You sound doubtful,” Cas points out, still slightly nervous.
“Of course I’m doubtful, Cas.” He looks Cas in his eyes, and he pleads with his eyes. “You… you said it yourself. You’re just being. But you’re… I don’t know.”
“What’s the matter, Dean?”
Dean sighs. His face looks cracked open, raw. “I don’t want you to just be. I want you to be happy.”
Cas faces his fears and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He is always frightened of touching Dean Winchester. “I am happy,” and the lie scrapes his throat like broken glass as it comes out. It hurts to say, because he and Dean both know it’s not true. Lying to Dean’s face has never been easy. This is no exception.
Dean just stares up at him, suspicion and pain dancing across his face. Cas just smiles slightly, warmly. “You’re not,” he whispers. “You’re rotting,” he says pointedly. “You wish you were dead. How am I supposed to forget about that?”
Cas just continues smiling. There’s nothing else he can do. He tries for reassurance. “It is not your burden to bear, Dean.”
“You’re not a burden, Cas. You’re- You’re my best friend.”
Cas’ chest warms, but his stomach sinks. That’s all he’ll ever be. And it’s enough, of course it is, but still. It hurts.
“I know. But you needn’t worry. I’ll be fine, you have to trust me.”
Dean just shakes his head slowly, like he’s exhausted. He must be tired of fighting, Cas thinks. He’s no good for him. He only drags Dean down, and this time is no exception. “You won’t,” he murmurs. “And I can’t.”
Cas reels back slightly. “You- you can’t trust me?” He internally winces when he hears the unabashed hurt in his own voice. He shouldn’t be hurt. He is a liar, after all.
“Not about this,” Dean admits sadly. He sounds regretful, but Cas would never shame him for telling the truth.
Dean reaches out and grabs Cas’ hand from his shoulder. He places Cas’ hand on his own cheek, letting the meat of Cas’ palm cradle his jaw. He leans into it, shutting his eyes for a moment. When they flutter back open, they land on Cas’ startled face.
“What are you so afraid of?” Dean asks, head resting within the safe confines of Cas’ hand.
Cas’ Grace unfreezes. Dean’s giving him permission to touch, encouraging it even, and Cas doesn’t know what to do with that. He has grown anxious due to the unforeseen turn of events, but he will not leave Dean hanging. He won’t deny him the comfort he is so bravely asking for.
Cas raises his other hand, running a finger over the hair above Dean’s ear. He pushes back hair that doesn’t need grooming. But Cas is hungry for this, hungry for the soft intimacy he’s been deprived of for so many years. He’s soft, his touches reverent and worshiping.
Cas bushes a thumb under Dean’s eye. “I am afraid of many things.” Dean’s eyes crinkle in sympathy. “I am afraid of you,” he admits softly, embarrassed.
Dean’s eyes shoot open, and they land heavy and shocked and hurt on Cas’ face. “What? Why?”
“I am afraid of your judgment,” Cas clarifies. It’s an admission as much as it is an answer. “I am afraid of you sending me away. I am afraid you are… disgusted with me.”
Dean shakes his head frantically, even within the hold of Cas’ palms. “I’m not, I swear.”
Cas doesn’t believe him. He might’ve made that too obvious. “I swear, Cas. I- I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to be… gone or- or dead. You were brought back for a reason.”
Cas doesn’t believe that Dean wants him dead. But he does believe that he inconveniences Dean less when he is. He was only brought back because Jack wanted his father alive, but he must not have cared too much because he hasn’t visited since he left him. There is no reason for him to be here, except to comfort Dean.
Cas rubs his thumb between Dean’s eyebrows like he’s soothing a fussy baby. Dean’s eyebrows unfurrow slightly. “I am no good to you alive, Dean.”
“You’re good to me in general,” Dean mutters petulantly. “And you’re no good to me dead, either.”
Cas hums, wiping the corners of Dean’s eyes when they start growing wetter. “Maybe. At least dead, I won’t always be in your way.”
Dean sniffs. “You’re not, promise.” He turns his head firmly into Cas’ hands. “I want you here with me.”
Cas completely stills. “You do?”
Dean nods, not dislodging himself from Cas’ fingers. “Swear,” he vows in a whisper, opening his eyes and looking up at Cas through his eyelashes. He is so- he’s beautiful. He’s everything.
Affection pours out through every pore in Castiel’s body, and containing his trueform in his vessel is getting increasingly difficult. It gets lodged in his throat, and he can’t even swallow around it. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Dean… I can’t-
Cas turns his head away, trying to retract his hands but stopped by Dean grabbing hold of his wrists. He’s going to blow out the lights if this doesn’t cease. He’s been so starved for affection and this- this is more than even an Angel can take. “It’s too m-much- I can’t-“
“Don’t run,” Dean whispers. “Please, don’t run.”
Cas’ fingers twitch despite Dean’s grip on his wrists. His Grace flares brightly, fighting to be let out from where Cas is keeping it strictly stifled. “Dean, it’s dangerous- I don’t want to hurt you, please-“
Dean tugs harder on his wrists, so hard that Cas falls forward, having to quickly readjust so he stumbles down to where he’s now sitting next to Dean. It’s a clumsy movement, an unpracticed thing. Dean leans forward to press their foreheads together. “You won’t,” he promises. “You couldn’t.”
Cas’ brings his hands to Dean’s temples and fights for his composure. Dean pulls him forward more pointedly so the sides of their faces are pressed together. His hands shift so he’s cradling the side of Dean’s head with one of his hands. “It’s a lot, Dean, it’s too mu ch -“
His voice breaks, and Dean finally releases his wrists to hug him snugly around his shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Cas.”
After all this time, Castiel finally breaks.
He presses his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, tears pouring down his face. He sobs, all of the painful emotions scratching their way out of his throat and out his tired eyes. He feels so moved by it, so affected by something he’s been pushing down for days. He is so broken, and he cannot have the one thing that could fix him. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”
Dean just squeezes him as hard as he can. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs, voice heavy. He rubs firmly at the space between Cas’ shoulder blades. His wings twitch behind his back, out of Dean’s sight.
“I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry-“
Cas almost can't breathe, the raging emotions stifling his vessel’s respiratory functions.
“Stop, Cas, it’s okay. Stop apologizing.“
Cas shakes his head where it’s pressed into Dean’s neck. His trueform cries, all wavelengths weeping with incomprehensible sorrow. His wings flap in their plane, and the lights in the room flicker.
“I cannot- I- I put you through so much, and for nothing!” He sobs hard, his eyes glowing and sending the cascading tears into iridescence. “And it wasn’t fair, Dean, it wasn’t fair.“
Castiel was not aware that he could feel pain this profound. And still, even as Dean holds him so, he does not love him. Not in the way Cas loves him. Cas could create stars and galaxies with the love he feels for Dean Winchester, and Dean would never feel the same. Cas sucks in harsh breaths like he can’t control himself. Cas tries to rip himself away, and he’s making noises he’s never heard himself make before, but Dean doesn’t let him go.
Dean sniffles next to Castiel’s ear, and he knows this must end.
“Let me- Dean, you have t-to let me go-“
Dean just shakes his head, holding him tighter. “No. I’m not letting you go through any of that again.”
“I’ve gone through nothing, I would do it a-all over again for you,” he sobs out, growing calmer. Dean pulls back, cradling Cas’ face with his hands and wiping his tears with his thumbs. Cas fractures further at the sight of Dean’s face. A broken sob peels itself from his lips. “Nothing compares to what I put you through, Dean-“
“I don’t want any of that,” he whispers, choked up by the wreckage of Cas’ emotions. “I just want…”
Cas looks him in his eyes, his wet eyelashes weighing down his eyelids. “What?” He says, firmer than he intended. He sniffs. “What is it that you want? I’ll give it to you.”
It’s a dangerous request, because Dean could ask him to do anything and he would do it. Dean could ask him to leave and never come back, and if it’s what he truly wanted, Cas would be gone within seconds.
Dean lets out a disbelieving laugh, looking down and shaking his head. “I want you to stay.” He says the words like they weigh tons, like they grated his throat just to come out. Cas just nods, almost confused. “And I will. Of course, I will.” He says it like it’s a given. If it’s what Dean wants, it's what he shall do.
Dean shakes his head, smiles at Cas like he’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “I want… I want you to kiss me,” Dean admits softly, handling Cas like he’s fine China.
The admission punches through Cas’ ribcage, tying knots around his heart. There’s no way, there’s just no way.
“You don’t,” Cas disputes, almost afraid. Dean just huffs out a breathy laugh. “I do.”
“You-“ he almost pants with how disbelieving he is. “You can’t-“
Dean presses his thumb over Cas’ lips. “I can,” he says, smiling. His eyes flicker down to Cas’ pouted lips. “And I will.”
He’s a bit smug now, and when he presses his lips to Cas’, he swears he’s stopped breathing. Cas gasps into Dean’s mouth, sucking in a fast breath of air. Dean tangles his hands into Cas’ hair, tugging and smoothing out the dark strands.
Cas presses forward, their knees touching and eyes watering. Suddenly it’s searing, and Cas’ hands are everywhere. They cradle Dean’s face then move down to his shoulders, sliding down his front and landing at his waist. Dean’s face warms. He doesn’t know where to touch, doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t get enough.
Dean licks into his mouth, and the lights flicker above them. Cas groans, nipping at Dean’s lips. Cas leans impossibly forward, pushing Dean back so he’s laid out on Cas’ bed. Cas crawls over him just to continue kissing him. It’s an almost too-much pressure, and power surges beneath the skin of his fingertips.
Dean grabs hold of his lapels, tugging him as close as he can get him. Dean whines, and Cas immediately tries to soothe him with soft rubs to his cheekbone. He could explode with the love he feels for this man, and his trueform quivers with affection. The lights flicker more rapidly, and Cas presses his hips into Dean, finally unable to control himself.
Dean grabs a hold of Cas’ shoulders and quickly rolls them so he’s on top, and Cas’ breathing stutters. He looks up at Dean, pleading. “Please,” Cas begs. He brings his leg up so one of his knees is raised from the bed.
Dean straddles his hips. “What do you want?” He asks softly, not wanting to overwhelm the flustered Seraph beneath him.
Cas just leans his head back and closes his eyes. “Just- keep kissing me, please.”
Dean smiles. “So polite,” he teases, leaning down to kiss him anyway. Cas sniffles, so affected by the gift Dean has given him. Cas should see it as cruel, to give all of these things just to take them away after, but at least he got to experience them. At least he got to experience Dean on top of him, licking affection into his mouth.
Tears roll sideways down to Cas’ ears, and the next time he sniffles, Dean pulls back. Panic quickly spreads over Dean’s face. He frantically wipes at the tears rolling down Cas’ cheeks like he can cure Cas somehow. “Why are you still crying? Please- what’s wrong?”
Cas turns his head to the side, scrunching his face in agony. Dean pushes his head back with a hand, trying to catch Cas’ faraway gaze. “You don’t have to do this to make me feel better, Dean. I’m okay, I swore-“
Dean cuts him off with a well-timed kiss to his dry lips. “I’m doing it because I want to. Because…”
Dean turns his head away, and Cas mourns the loss of whatever Dean was going to say. He leans up on his elbows, curious. “Because what?” His voice shakes at the end of the word.
Cas knows he shouldn’t push, but he’s just been granted with affection he thought he’d never receive. If there’s any time to take a mile, it’s now. Dean lets out a strange huff of saddened laughter, like he’s realized how dumb he is. Though of course, Cas would always disagree with him.
“Because I love you.”
Castiel cannot move.
Dean loves him. There… there is no way. Dean loves him. For all of that time, could they have been together? For all of the time that Castiel spent hiding his love and schooling his expressions, they could’ve been united.
But… Dean loves him like a brother, he told him so. Has Dean lied? Has he been toying around with Cas’ love and Grace for as long as he’s been around? He is not sure. Maybe that’s not a fair assessment.
He knows he is flawed, but to lie about this would be cruel, even to him. He bluescreens, face slack with surprise and blood freezing in his veins. He doesn’t need to breathe, normally just does it out of habit, but now his breath seems halted in his lungs.
“Cas,” Dean says cautiously. “Are you okay?”
Cas just stares at him, watches how Dean’s soul churns with anxiety. He doesn’t even know how to respond.
Everything feels like too much, and his face is hot and red, and Dean is still straddling him, and-
The light shatters from above them.
Bathed in darkness, Cas quickly flips them so he’s shielding Dean from the falling glass. He bears the slight burn of the heated glass on his back, and prays that none of them landed on Dean.
“Dean,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. You’re not hurt, are you?“
He stresses, worrying that this will somehow make Dean change his mind. If he left now, he’d take the air on his way out. His chest is tight, and he tries to forget the words that Dean uttered to him only moments prior.
“No,” he says quietly. “No, I’m okay.”
Cas sits up, letting the glass slide off his back and onto the floor behind him. Shards have landed on the sheets around them, but he doesn’t have the brain capacity necessary to deal with that right now.
Dean sits up with him, a reeling look on his face. “Cas,” he starts, his mouth barely visible in the darkness of his room. “Do you still love me?”
Cas’ chest squeezes, pain etching itself onto his features. Dean has said that he reciprocates, does this mean he is free? Does this mean that everything, all the pain, has finally reached fermata? Dean looks way too nervous for his liking.
Cas reaches forward, thumbing at the corner of Dean’s right eye. The green of it is still somehow visible, even with Cas’ dulled senses.
“Of course. I would love you until nothing of me existed within this Universe. You are everything to me. Of course, I love you.”
Dean just huffs out a shocked laugh. Castiel does not know why he’s surprised. He’s shown Dean his love since he met him. He just didn’t know what he was looking at.
When he fought Raphael, he did it for love. When he teamed up with Crowley, he did it for love. When he offered to die with Dean, he did it for love. There is nothing new about this.
“Jeez,” Dean says, overwhelmed. “I love you, too.” Cas smiles at him, overtaken with emotion. “I guess we love each other, then.”
Dean just laughs, leaning forward and grabbing the back of Cas’ neck to pull him in for another kiss. Cas tries his best to fight off his smile to properly kiss Dean, but it truly is a challenge. Tears roll down Cas’ face, but they’re not quite as sad as they were before.
Dean lets Cas move him around, pressing his hands into Dean’s hair and hips. He can feel the longing surging from Dean’s soul, and it’s almost too much.
He slows their kisses, moving languidly until they naturally separate, lips sticking together with dryness. Crying this much tends to dehydrate even the most angelic participants.
When Dean pulls back, there’s a startlingly serious look on his face.
“What?” Cas asks, slightly panicked. “What happened?”
Dean thumbs at his cheek, his forefinger resting above his ear. “Don’t suffer in silence, man.” His eyebrows dip in the way they usually do when Dean is trying to convey something he really means. Cas’ chest tightens.
“I can’t forget that you were just gonna let yourself decay in here,” he says, soft and hurt. “I can’t let that go. If you ever feel like this again, I need you to tell me.”
Cas turns his head away, reluctant. What is he to Dean if he crumbles over something so small? What is he if he can’t take care of them both, without fail? “I- I don’t know, Dean.”
Dean turns Cas’ face back toward him, his eyes growing stern but pleading. “You have to. Please, you have to. You have to promise me.”
Cas can see the way Dean’s soul mourns over this, the morose hue dampening its shine. Cas flounders for a moment, searching for a response. His wings twitch in discontentment from where they rest in their plane. “If you don’t, I’ll tell Jack.”
Cas scowls. “Dean, you can’t threaten to tell my son about my feelings. What is he going to do?”
Dean just smirks and slightly shrugs. “Cry, probably. Is that what you want? You want your son to cry?”
Cas can feel his scowl deepening into a pained grimace. “No…” He really doesn’t.
“Then promise.”
Cas sighs, clenching his fist to hold his composure. He presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead, leaning over him slightly. He lifts Dean’s hand so he can interlock their pinkies.
He bows his head, letting the Grace flow to his eyes and flaring them a bright blue. An Angel’s promise, sealed with a kiss.
When he looks back up at Dean, it’s through his eyelashes. Dean’s cheeks flush bright pink.
“I promise.”