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After weeks of no luck getting Castiel out of Purgatory, Sam and Dean end up finding him one morning, curled up against the driver’s door of the Impala. His clothes are wrecked, in some places barely holding together. It takes Sam a moment to register him, but Dean’s already dropping to his knees and checking him over seconds after his eyes catch him, like he’s been looking for him all this time. His hands hover over Castiel like he’s not sure where he should set them.
“Cas, you okay?”
His eyes don’t focus, though, lost and confused and far off, and eventually Dean hauls him up – without difficulty; Castiel’s limp and thinner than he used to be, and submits to Dean’s grip. He doesn’t ask Sam to open the door or to get in the front seat and drive, just sets Cas in the back of the Impala – ignoring the dirt, grime, and blood coating his skin and clothes – and shuts the door after he climbs in after him.
Next to the door of their room, Dean’s bag sits forgotten.
“Hey, Cas, you’re out,” Dean says, his voice barely loud enough for himself to hear, but Cas’ shoulders droop a little at his voice. “You’re out, all right? You’re out, I got you.”
Sam tilts the rearview mirror up towards the ceiling when he gets in the drivers seat and turns the radio on low enough to drown out his brother’s whispers as he pulls out of the motel parking lot. Dean, whose voice has gone shaky and emotional, sighs in gratefulness.
A few towns later, when it’s nearing dark and they’re about eight hours from their hunt, Dean raises his head from the top of Castiel’s and says, “Find a motel,” surprised when Sam does it without fighting him, without mentioning the case.
It’s a tiny little building, not much to show for itself and any other night Dean would be turning the car around, but tonight’s different. Dean throws his wallet towards the front seat and works on getting Cas out. He’s even less aware of his surroundings, tense and hard to move, but when Sam comes back from the office, Dean’s got him out, has him leaning against the side of the Impala, and Dean’s just saying soothing nonsense words like Sam isn’t there.
This is a side of Dean Sam hasn’t seen in a long time, nurturing and concerned and stable. It’s not weird, not unwelcome, but it’s still surprising, and Sam doesn’t know what to say, or if it’ll come out right, so he keeps it to himself.
As he’s opening the door to their room, Dean’s got one arm around Castiel’s shoulders, one arm struggling with the door, and he’s still soothing Cas with words he’s not sure of when Sam comes up and takes the key from him. After he unlocks the door, he’s off with a quiet, “’Night, Dean, let me know when you’re ready to take off,” and Dean would thank him if he felt like he could get the words out.
“All right, Cas,” he says once the door’s open, kicking it shut and stripping Cas of the destroyed trenchcoat. “Bathroom.”
He doesn’t fight, not that Dean expects him to, but he’s tense as Dean cuts the scrubs off of him. Cas won’t lift his arms or his legs for Dean to pull them off, and they’ve gotta go anyway. There’s no regret in tossing them in the trash, and Cas watches Dean do it with a far-off look. “Stay with me, Cas,” Dean says, leaning forward and turning the tub faucet on, adjusting the temperature until the water’s just the right side of warm. Cas is still standing in his underwear. For the sake of modesty, Dean leaves them on before reaching forward for Castiel’s wrist, where the hospital bracelet still lays.
It’s been a year—hell, more than a year—since Cas first got it, and Dean’s amazed the words haven’t worn away. The first reaction Dean gets out of him is a flinch when Dean cuts the bracelet away, but after that, he’s unfocused again, quiet and pliant when Dean, after shedding most of his own clothes, gets in the bathtub behind Cas, letting him relax against his chest and Dean only feels the slightest bit of awkwardness.
For such a small hotel, they’ve got good-sized bathtubs, and Dean’s thankful he didn’t protest the place based on looks alone, because it’d be hard to fit two grown men in a shower smaller than this one. Even now, his knees are banging against the side of the tub and Cas’ legs are mostly out of the water. Still, Cas doesn’t seem to mind, relaxing against Dean’s chest and letting Dean scrub at his skin with a washcloth. He hums songs that come to mind and presses his lips where they can reach to the marks along Castiel’s skin that won’t scrub off.
After a while, when the water’s cooled off and the water’s a murky grey, Cas starts speaking, mostly too quiet for Dean to hear, but he catches words like ‘broken’ and phrases like ‘shouldn’t be here’. Dean takes a few deep breathes until he’s calm, shushes him and says, “Cas, no, you’re not broken. I’m right here,” and takes Cas’ shaking hands into his own and says, lips pressed against Cas’ ear, “I got you.”
Cas calms down after a while, stops shivering when the water cools down and actually manages to pull himself out of the tub, even dries himself off, removes his underwear, when Dean hands him a towel. Dean leaves the room long enough to grab clothes and change his own, and when he comes back, Cas is staring into the mirror, fingers pressed to his beard.
Dean sets the clothes aside – they’re going to have to go shopping, Dean thinks, but it’s too early to tell – and asks, “You want that shaved?”
He half expects Cas to say no, based on the half-fond expression he’s got, but Cas nods, drops his hand and turns to face Dean. “How long would it take?”
“Not long. Why? You got some place to be?” He tries for joking, but the way it comes out sounds a lot more fearful than he’d like.
But Cas just looks overwhelmingly sad. “No. Just here.”
Dean doesn’t say anything, just leaves the room to grab his razor. It doesn’t take long; Cas sits still, his hands gripping the edge of the counter from where he’s sitting and keeping his face still. They stay silent. There’s still no words that can be said, not really, and anything Dean tries to say would come off like he’s trying to hard. Besides, he’s been where Cas is; shell-shocked at the change after running and fighting for a year, difficulty adjusting. Whether he’s got his powers or not, Cas is amazingly human, and Purgatory’s affecting him like it’s affected Dean.
He’s almost done when he sees Cas’ hands twitch, fingers jerking towards Dean, and Dean makes quick work of shaving the last of Cas’ beard before he cleans his face with a cloth, stands Cas up. His eyes have a different look to them, a healthier look, and Dean, who hasn’t let go of Cas for more than a few seconds, since he got back, who never used to touch as freely, pulls Cas to him without hesitating.
And Cas’ arms circle around his waist, he buries his face in Dean’s neck and lets out a shaky breath when Dean squeezes him tight, closes his eyes against Cas’ words, his own voice as he says, “Missed you, Cas,” and Cas returns the sentiment by tightening his hold on Dean.
After a while, Dean manages to get Cas to put on clothes. He doesn’t get the time to appreciate the sight of Castiel wearing his clothes – it isn’t the time, anyway - before Cas climbs under the covers of one of the beds and shoves his head underneath the pillows. He’s snoring in just a few minutes and Dean tries not to jump to conclusions. Cas is in shock, he’s having a hard time adjusting from Purgatory, he’s worn out and just needs to recharge… But they all sound like excuses and Dean’s done with excuses. He writes a list of the things they’ll need to get Cas - clothes of his own, razor, toothbrush… hell, everything - and he’s falling asleep at the desk trying to copy over the list from Sam - who took the news amazingly well; Dean’s got a hell of a brother - when Cas calls his name, desperate, scared.
“Yeah, Cas?”
“You’re still here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Get him inked, Dean writes on the list.
A few seconds pass, then, “Sam?”
“Another room. Go back to sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning.” Dean’s not sure about that. If Cas isn’t an angel anymore, he’ll feel anything but better.
But Cas twists and turns and flips the covers on and off until Dean says, “Cas, c’mon, you’ll sleep if I have to hold you in one spot.”
A long moment of silence follows and Dean thinks he maybe got through before Cas says, “I keep seeing Purgatory’s trees when I close my eyes.”
“It’s normal, Cas.”
“Is this what you deal with every night?”
Dean doesn’t even think about lying. In the dark, when Cas is the only one to hear him, it’s easy to be this open. “Most nights, yeah. It gets better. Eventually. I… I don’t dream about hell much anymore.”
Cas doesn’t say anything. After a while, when Sam’s stopped responding to texts after a typo-ridden one reeking of tiredness, Dean crawls into bed and falls into an uneasy sleep, waking every time Castiel snores too loud.
He’s not bothered by it. Cas’ presence is extremely calming, even if they’ve got a hell of a lot to worry about in the morning and he sounds like an engine gone wrong.
Around four a.m., Dean wakes to Cas crawling into bed with him. He’s pissed at himself for letting his guard down, for sleeping so soundly when they’re still at risk and there’s not much around for protection, but the feeling doesn’t last long. The light from the bathroom catches Castiel’s eyes and before Dean can ask what’s going on, Cas says, “I’d like to try something.”
“In my bed?”
He sounds so calm when he says, “Cuddling is difficult to do alone,” that Dean doesn’t even think twice about letting Cas curl beside him, rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. Any other time, any other person, Dean would’ve kicked them out of the room in a fit, but this is Cas, and it’s after Purgatory. They need this.
The closeness doesn’t help either of them with sleep, though judging by the way Castiel’s shoulders relax when Dean finally drapes his arm across them, it’s helping in some way. “I wanted to apologize,” Cas says after a while. Dean feels his voice in his chest. “I regret—“
“Hey, no, don’t. Whatever you did, you did what you had to. No apologies about it, all right?” He leaves the ‘I forgive you’ hanging in the air.
Cas doesn’t say anything else, but his breathing’s still unsteady, and Dean’s urge to fill the silence overcomes that of wanting Castiel to rest. “Y’know, Benny called me crazy for praying to you.” Cas’ muscles tense at the mention of Benny’s name. Moving his hand from Cas’ shoulder to his hair, Dean continues, “Most of the time I thought I was crazy. But I didn’t think you heard, ‘cause you never came.”
“I thought we weren’t speaking of regrets.” It’s derailing, what Cas is doing, trying to get Dean away from the topic at hand to make him more comfortable.
Dean ignores him. “Knowing you did hear… I said a lot of things, Cas.” He did. I miss you, Cas. It’s getting worse. I’m going to find you. Where the hell are you? Why won’t you find me? I’m torturing. Cas, I’m losin’ it. He prayed about Benny, about Cas finding him. He gave out landmarks that looked important, told Cas every night where they were and, when nights were bad, he let himself think, I need you. He ignored Benny’s amusement, his condescension, and every time he’d come close to telling Dean that Cas couldn’t be found, or didn’t want to be, or he was dead, Dean gave him a promise that if they didn’t find Cas, they didn’t get out.
In the silence, when Dean can’t find the words to continue, he hears Cas’ breathing, the hitches, the deep, shaky breaths, and before he asks, he’s figured it out.
Good job, Winchester, you made an angel cry.
“Dean,” Cas starts, sounding lost and broken and all the things Dean knows without a doubt Cas isn’t. “Dean—“
“Cas, it’s okay.” He combs his fingers through Cas’ hair and does it again when his breathing evens out at the touch. “Really, it’s okay.”
What’s surprising is that for once, Dean’s not lying. There’s a lot to do and not much time to do it in, but Cas is okay, Sam’s okay, even if Dean’s not naïve enough to think there’s not going to be problems there later, and no one’s on the edge of literal death, here, so Dean’s gonna count it as a win.
“Get some sleep,” Dean says, continuing to comb his fingers through Cas’ hair. He’d spent a good while on it in the bath, but his fingers still find clumps of dirt, not that Cas seems to notice or mind. After a while, Cas sleeps, lulled by Dean’s hand in his hair and his humming.
Not long after, Dean follows, lulled by Cas’ breath ghosting across his chest and the feeling of Cas pressed against him, clean, warm, and, above all, okay.