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Staring across the table, Castiel is met with Dean's face; a battered and bruised and swollen face that remains as beautiful as ever. He seems to be perfectly sculpted and Castiel wishes he was the one to shape him all those years ago, yearns to touch every part of him from his skin down to his bones. It would’ve been an honorable pleasure.
He gets so lost in his thoughts that whenever he comes back to reality there's a painful spike in his chest. Every time he focuses he’s yet again reminded of the fact that those abrasions are from his doing. Every time he stands and so much as inches across towards Dean, the other man puts a hand up as if he already knows what Castiel will attempt.
He’s asked in the low tens of times, so maybe it isn’t much of a surprise.
When Dean claims that he had it coming, Castiel is unable to say anything. When Dean was influenced by the Mark of Cain and nearly killed Castiel, Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to fight back. Looking into his green eyes and getting lost in the planes, he would’ve smiled if his vessel wasn’t so busy scrunching its face up in pain. Defending himself against Dean would mean harming him. He almost died in an attempt to not harm Dean. Yet, now, Dean was hurt by him because of a simple spell; a spell he should’ve been able to fight off for Dean.
It almost feels as if he’s neglecting Dean, letting him suffer. It’s barely that bad of a wound, but it aches, aches down to Castiel’s very core, that he cannot fix it. It’s as if his grace is trying to cough itself up, like it’s clawing to expel from his body to lay against Dean's warm skin. To splay across the gentle features and caress them with what the other man calls his mojo.
Eventually, after having asked so many times to heal him, Dean retreats to his room.
Castiel struggles to grasp why Dean won’t let him help. Even after having been a human he doesn’t understand. Is this a complex emotion I hadn’t experienced? Is he that angry? Or is it simply the fact that he wants to pay penance? Penance is not required of Dean, Castiel thinks.
He finds himself staring holes into the bookshelf for an unknown amount of time before a large hand is waving in front of his face.
“—stiel? Cas, buddy, c’mon.”
Castiel blinks and turns to Sam. “Hello, Sam.”
“You good?”
“Yes. I apologize.”
Sam cocks his head to the side like Castiel usually does. “For?”
Castiel doesn’t respond for a second because he’s unsure. Maybe it’s because he was reciting the hundreds of ways the scenario of him apologizing to Dean could go. “For the trouble I have caused. And staring at that bookshelf.” He brings a hand up to gesture at it awkwardly.
“It’s not your fault, Cas.”
“It feels as such.” He twiddles with his striped tie awkwardly. He misses his old tie. He misses his longer trench coat.
“It’s not.” Sam looks at his face and leans back on the table. It’s obvious what Castiel is thinking about. “Deans not mad at you.”
“It feels as such.” He repeats. “Could you talk to him? Convince him to let me heal him. I cannot handle seeing him… that way.”
Sam sighs, “I can try asking again? No promises, he seems pretty adamant on waiting for it to heal naturally.”
“Please, just ask.”
Another sigh as he pushes himself off the table, “Alright.”
Walking down the hall he raps on Dean’s door with his knuckles. “Dean?”
He hears a yeah muffled by the door and opens it. He’s laying there, headphones half on with rock music leaking from it. “What’s up?”
“Cas is asking—again—if he can fix your—“
“Dude, I’m fine. I’m good, barely hurts anymore. Might as well be Wolverine.”
Sam leans against the doorframe. “You tell him that.” He says before dipping out of the room and down the hall.
“Hey! Close the—friggin bitch.” He stands to close the door and hears jerk coming from down the hall.
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Finally getting up from where he was seated, Castiel walks slowly — both from trying to be quiet and from the dull aches across his body — over to Dean’s room. Standing idly in front of his door, he contemplates whether or not he should walk in. It’s still dark out and Castiel hadn’t bothered to check the time but Dean values his sleep.
He ignores the thought and slowly pushes the door open. Dean is asleep, headphones still on and playing.
Castiel inches closer until he’s standing right beside him. He studies the half of his face that isn’t pressed into the pillow and, of course, as if to taunt him, the side showing is the more bruised one. The bruises bloomed from below his mouth, on his forehead and spread across his cheek, along with a stray cut on his eyebrow. The colors of them are splotched like watercolors; they blossom an irritated pink and red, then bloom an angry dark purple and blue, then as the petals fall they shift to a sickening looking yellow and green. Currently, he’s in the stages of purple-blue and yellow-green. The swelling is still present but significantly decreased by the ice pack he had pressed against his face for so long earlier. He still looks ravishing, even in this way.
Reaching out to touch Dean's face, the man jolts and pulls the gun from under his pillow. It’s aimed at Castiel's chest when Dean goes “Damnit, Cas! I could’a shot you, man..” he puts the gun down with a grumpy groan. “What’re you doing?”
Castiel pauses before starting “There aren’t—“
“— words. There aren’t words, I know, you said it at least a dozen times by now. Drop it, Cas.”
“Dean, please.”
“Cas, I'm good. It’s a few bruises. I’ve gone through worse.”
“I understand that. It feels much different when it’s by my hand.”
“I had it coming.” Dean repeats.
“You are not required to pay penance for something you could not control, Dean.”
“Same for you. No need feelin’ guilty over something you couldn’t control.” Dean sits up and gives him a soft grin.
Castiel’s legs feel weak from standing, most likely from backlash of the spell wearing off.
“You alright, Cas?” Dean reaches out and Castiel doesn’t pull away.
“I feel immensely guilty.”
“God, Cas, not that; enough of that. I mean physically.”
“Oh. I am recovering.”
Dean pulls his arm and Castiel lets himself be breezed along like a feather. “Sit for now. You're shakin’ a bit there.”
Castiel reaches for Dean's face and he’s met with his hand instead, stopping him
“Cas.”
“Dean.”
“Don’t.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“I would like to—“
“—and you won’t.”
Castiel goes to open his mouth and Dean gives him that same look he always does. The look when he wants Castiel to stop talking for a minute or just let him finish his damn coffee.
And Castiel does stop.
“I promise it’s alright.” And he realizes they’ve been holding hands this whole time. He lets go and Castiel’s hand and, like a leaf in motion, slowly falls into his own lap.
“The guilt I feel..” Castiel brings that same hand up to gesture at his chest. “..it is very deep. Like a physical pain. I cannot handle knowing that you are hurt and that it was of my own doing.”
“Y’dont think I feel the same when I remember what I did to you?”
Castiel gives an exasperated sigh, “It was beyond your control, Dean.”
“Yeah, and, uh, it was also beyond your control, Cas.”
“There have been countless instances where things were out of my control but I have always been able to get a grasp on it.”, for you, he finishes in his head.
“This was something you didn’t have a grasp on.”
Castiel takes Dean's hand again. “I never want to harm you again, Dean. Not after everything I’ve already put you through.”
“Oh, c'mon, don’t bring up the—“
“—the leviathans” Dean sighs “and the entire ordeal with purgatory was my fault, yet that was put on you. I have deceived and lied to you. And, yet, you still say you need me.”
“Cause I do need you, Cas. And, no, that doesn’t mean the healing and all the other angel mojo crap. I mean you. You, all of you.”
Castiel finally ceases with asking to heal him and they sit in an awkward-but-not-awkward silence for a minute or two.
“I’m gonna conk back out, now.”
“You are.. going to sleep?”
“Yeah, Cas. You need to sleep?”
Castiel cocks his head to the side. “You know that angels don’t need to sleep.”
“Yeah, it’s not required, smartass, but maybe it would help.”
“…perhaps.”
“So? You goin’ to bed?”
He looks down at his lap. “I would not like to leave.”
“You don’t gotta leave the bunker, just go sleep in your room.”
“No, I mean this room.”
“Ah. What, you wanna cuddle and talk about your feelings?”
“That does not sound terrible.” Castiel hums and Dean sighs again.
Dean stands up and grabs a band shirt from his closet along with some sweatpants, and that’s when Castiel realizes Dean's wearing shorts. Legs have never looked so appealing to Castiel before.
“Here. Change.”
Castiel brings out both hands to take the clothes. “Thank you, Dean.” He stands, leaning against the wall as he begins to strip.
“Dude, I didn’t mean—“
“Hm?”
“…nevermind.” and Dean sits on the edge of his bed facing in the other direction.
After a minute, he turns back and Castiel looks… different. The only time he’d seen him outside of the trenchcoat was when he was a human, and that was brief. The way his shirt hangs off his shoulders and accentuates his waist—Dean now thinks he knows what his personal heaven would be, or look, like.
“Alright, grandpa, time for bed.”
“I am not a grandfather.” Castiel mutters before being pulled back to the bed. He’s coaxed by hands gently squeezing his shoulders to lay down.
Dean leans back and lays beside Castiel.
Castiel wraps his arms around Dean's chest, “In which position is the most comfortable way to cuddle?”
“What??”
“You said we could cuddle and talk about the feelings we’ve been experiencing.”
“Sarcasm, Cas. Sarcasm.”
Castiel lets out a woeful oh and Dean feels guilty. “Okay, okay, just.. ah, flip over.”
Castiel cocks his head to the side, confused, but does it anyway. Dean's arms snake around Castiel's torso and his hold tightens.
“Personal favorite.” Dean mutters.
“…I would prefer to be facing you.” Castiel complains and there’s a loud sigh from the other man.
“Knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Never is with you.” He complains back. “Alright, flip over again.”
Once he does, Dean pats on his chest, “Step one, head goes here.” drawing an imaginative circle with his finger there.
Castiel complies and rests his cheek there. “Step two, close your eyes and go night-night.”
“I am not a child, Dean.” he gives what looks like a pout. How does a multi-something-million year old angel manage to give a pout like such?
“Yeah and I need my beauty sleep.”
Castiel puts an elbow on both sides of Dean's torso and leans on them.
“What’re you doing?”
“The third step I require to sleep well.” Castiel presses a chaste kiss against the worst of Dean's bruises. It may not have any genuine healing properties but Dean swears it did. “Good night, Dean.” And, closing his eyes like he didn’t just sentence Dean to a night of overthinking, he falls asleep.
Dean stares at the ceiling for a while before chuckling, seeing the way it rumbles in his chest and shakes Castiel slightly. A quick kiss is pressed to Castiel’s hair and Dean dozes off with him.