Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (12/18)
Oct. 11th, 2009 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tracy_loo_whoHas it really been three weeks since I updated this? Oh my god, fail. SORRY. D: I will try to get distracted by season 5 as little as possible till I finish this, really.
Title: And I Will Walk On Water (12/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam, Lucifer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,400
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ibroketuesday has infinite patience with me, for some reason. ♥
Summary: In which Dean actually does miss Castiel but tries to be happy for him anyway because things are going well, until they stop going well.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11
Dean didn't miss Castiel. At all. Except for the part where he kept perking up in an irrational sort of hope every time he heard a rustle behind him, and the part where he always glanced twice at anything tan-colored he happened to see out of the corner of his eye, and the part where he had a moment of wishing Castiel was around to not laugh at his jokes every time he told one, and the part where--
Perhaps it was time to change his name to Deanna, Dean thought disparagingly, since he was such a big freaking girl and all.
Sam would love that, giant twerp that he was. In this case, 'giant' referred to both his size and the degree of his twerpiness. Despite Dean's constant insistence that he was just concerned for Castiel's safety (which was true; it just wasn't the whole truth), Sam never missed an opportunity to tease him about missing his boyfriend, especially since that time Dean had denied the boyfriend label but had forgotten to deny that he missed him. The look of utter glee on Sam's face had been insufferable. Or so Dean had pretended, anyway.
Truth of it was, there wasn't much aside from teasing Dean about Castiel that made Sam happy these days, even momentarily, so Dean couldn't help but secretly enjoy his stupid, toothy grins. They were Sammy grins, and every time he saw one, he felt like his little brother -- that sasquatch kid who looked up to him and glued beer bottles to his hand -- was still in there somewhere, buried beneath the guilt and the demon blood, and maybe Dean could even dig him out one day.
He was even more heartened when Sam said from the passenger seat, "Speaking of Cas..." (Dean glared automatically.) "Didn't he say an archangel could burn the demon blood out of me?"
Dean could guess where this was going. "Michael?"
"Yeah."
"He's a dick." Dean, of course, still hadn't forgiven the bastard.
Sam rolled his eyes. "So you've said, about ten times. Doesn't mean he wouldn't do it."
"I don't trust him," Dean replied. "We still don't even know what he wanted with Cas." It was enough for him that Sam wanted to be rid of the demon blood, almost. That was his Sammy, and Dean had already reevaluated his prejudices and accepted that his Sammy had always had that demon blood in him. What mattered was what he did, not what he was, right? And what he'd done was avoid demon blood and freaky powers for months, long enough for Dean's constant fears that he would slip up to begin to ease. Besides, he could hardly fault Sam for not being entirely human when he didn't fault Castiel for not being human at all.
As far as supernatural things went, angels were about as high on the list as it was possible to get. Even demons and werewolves and things had been human once, or at least, things Dean could find a part of himself to relate to, but angels were an entirely different story altogether. Dean still caught himself wondering, sometimes, what Castiel actually was, hidden behind Jimmy Novak's blue eyes and wrapped up in a rumpled trench coat.
If he thought about it for too long, well, he'd probably find it a little bit terrifying if he didn't trust Castiel so much. Castiel had shoehorned and slipped his way so far into Dean's life that he was a permanent fixture there now, even when he was absent, and yet, his familiarity was somehow deceptive because for every thing Dean knew about him, there had to be a million things he didn't know, things so far beyond his human scope of comprehension that he could never hope to know -- like how old Castiel was, or what he'd done during those thousands or millions or however many years before he'd received an order to retrieve Dean from Hell, or what kinds of things he'd experienced in all that time that had shaped him. Dean didn't know what Castiel knew or didn't know, or what he could or couldn't do; he didn't even know what Castiel looked like, because he simply wasn't capable of knowing.
He wanted to know, though. It didn't seem fair to Castiel that he only had one person left in his life who he could turn to and that person barely even knew or understood him at all. Dean imagined that to be intensely lonely, and it made him want to know everything about Castiel, like he knew everything about Sam. He also wanted to know just for the sake of knowing, because it was Castiel, and the fact that he didn't was like an itch under his skin. He even caught himself wondering, once or twice, if it would be worth being blind for the rest of his life if he could just catch a single glimpse of this vast, unknowable being who'd somehow become his friend. Of course, it was stupid and soppy and Dean would never actually do it even if Castiel was willing to show him his true form, but still, it didn't stop a tiny part of Dean from envying Jimmy and Pamela that knowledge of his Cas that he didn't have. He wished now that he'd thought to ask them, when he'd had the chance.
The picture-taking noise on Sam's cell phone distracted Dean from his thoughts. He glanced over, and Sam smirked and showed him a picture of himself looking distinctly wistful (but still very manly, of course). "It's your Cas-daydream face," Sam explained cheerfully.
Dean groused, "I do not have a Cas-daydream face."
"Dude, you were practically drooling," the giant brat smirked. "You should've given Cas a cell phone before he left, I'm sure he misses you too and would've appreciated this picture."
For a moment, Dean actually had an image of Castiel fumbling with a cell phone and trying to open picture mail. He caught himself before a fond smirk could actually steal across his lips and made a swipe for Sam's phone, but Sam snatched it out of his reach with a laugh. "Bitch."
And of course, Sam replied, "Jerk."
***
Sam wasn't always such a bitch, though.
On Christmas Day, Dean woke to eggnog and a small Christmas tree on the nightstand by his bed. At the top sat a little plastic angel Dean suspected Sam had painted tan himself, and he huffed a little when he saw it.
"Merry Christmas, Dean," Sam said, and handed Dean a neatly wrapped present. It was an almost startling contrast to the year before, when Christmas had come and gone unmentioned because they hadn't felt like celebrating it and they especially hadn't felt like celebrating it together, and Dean thought it was a little bit ironic that he was happier now that the apocalypse was actually upon them. He shook his head to himself and unwrapped his first present in forty-one years. It was just a flask with a cool looking "W" engraved in it, but it was perfect.
"Thanks," he said with a lopsided smile, and reached into his bag for Sam's gift, which was much less neatly wrapped.
He'd gotten Sam an external hard drive, and Sam asked with some dry amusement as he unwrapped it, "Is this actually for me or were you planning on slowly filling it up with porn?"
"How do you know it isn't already filled with porn?"
Sam just shook his head with a small snort and said, "If anything on here gives me a virus, there will be flatworms in your next fish taco."
"Cheers, bro," Dean grinned, holding up his mug of eggnog, and Sam clinked his against it.
They spent most of the day alternately watching and mocking TV, and it was... a lot of fun. Dean hadn't had this much fun with Sam in years, actually, even before he'd gone to Hell, and without an entirely imminent death hanging over his head, it was easily the best Christmas they'd had since they'd been kids. Watching Sam twirl his hair around in an imitation of Paris Hilton, Dean could almost, almost forget that this was a man who'd once been addicted to demon blood, who'd chosen a demon over him, who'd broken the last seal and unleashed Satan on the world. Sam was half nerd, half puppy, and all Dean's little brother. More than that, though, Dean supposed they were friends, too, now that he had a better frame of reference where those were concerned.
It would've been a perfect day, but for the absence of a certain angel of the lord. Dean was proud of himself for not letting his eyes wander over to the little plastic angel on top of the tree too often, but when Sam headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Dean finally did glance over at it. Part of him had hoped Castiel would surprise them by showing up, even briefly, but it was a foolish, maudlin hope and he knew it. Castiel had only been gone for nine days, and besides, Dean had heard that Christ hadn't even been born on this day. Of course Castiel hadn't actually shown up, so now Dean raised his mug of eggnog at the plastic angel in a small toast and said quietly, "I know you can hear me, Cas, so Merry Christmas, wherever you are. And your ass had better still be in one piece."
Then he downed the rest of the eggnog and went to dig through his bag for something more comfortable to wear, resolutely ignoring the bag of Hershey's Hugs in there that he'd bought the other day, just in case.
***
Thirty-nine days after Castiel had left for his garrison (not that anyone was counting, of course), Dean finally got to see him again. It was only a dream, he could tell, but it was good enough for him.
"Cas!" he said delightedly, turning on the park bench to see Castiel sitting beside him, so close and warm and Cas-like. Castiel didn't even look a tiny bit different -- still those big, blue eyes and messy hair and serene expression -- and Dean didn't know why that surprised him. Perhaps it was because the time had seemed to drag for him, and yet, looking at Castiel now, it felt like no time had passed at all. It didn't matter, Dean supposed; in the end he was still just as friggin' happy to see the bastard, and ten different kinds of relieved.
Dean's grin was reflected in the small quirk playing about Castiel's lips, though he didn't seem to quite grasp exactly what Dean was so happy about. "Hello, Dean. You seem.. well," he observed with a slight tilt of the head.
"Yeah, well, Sam and I ganked a whole nest of vampires today, plus I had a mean burger and apple pie, plus a personal visit from John Constantine?" Dean shrugged. "Life could be shabbier."
A crease appeared between Castiel's eyebrows. "Who is John Const--"
"Cas," Dean interrupted, shaking a bit from a silent chuckle. "It's good to see you." And fuck, but that was true. Just the sight of Castiel -- oh god, Dean's testosterone was losing a battle against his estrogen as he sat there, he could feel it. His only consolation was that he hadn't tried to hug him or something, at least. (Yet.)
Castiel stopped talking and his eyes grew wider, and then he smiled at Dean, a little bigger this time but also more shy, in a way. "And you, though I have seen you a bit more often."
The smile did things to Dean's stomach that he tried to distract himself from by muttering, "Creep." It was nice, though, to know Castiel hadn't actually abandoned him, and it was even nicer when Castiel's smile grew. Dean cleared his throat. "So, how goes Mission: Impossible?"
"It's not impossible," Castiel told him, and he sounded almost proud as he said, "Four of my brothers had already begun doubting Zachariah's true intentions because he still hasn't done anything about Lucifer yet, so they have joined me in spreading the word."
Maybe, Dean thought, Castiel only sounded proud to his ears because he himself was damn proud of Castiel. Either way, he gave Castiel a clap on the back. "Way to go, Cas, I always knew you could kick Mr. Scientology's ass with your angel-of-the-lord...ness."
Surprisingly, Castiel looked perplexed. It was endearing enough to make part of Dean ache a little, and he couldn't help but say, "Never stop being perpetually perplexed, okay?" Castiel didn't stop being perplexed, and Dean smirked. "What happens now, then, you gonna build yourself an army?" He was happy for Castiel, he really was, and maybe he was even beginning to have a speck of hope that Castiel could actually accomplish something with this harebrained idea of his, but he had a feeling it meant Castiel would be even more scarce in the future.
He was right. Castiel replied, "We are far from being strong enough in numbers yet, but when we are, we will fight Lucifer."
Dean let out a low whistle. "Big plans there, Cas," he said mildly, and didn't remind Castiel that when he'd first set out, he'd only meant to warn the other angels about Lucifer and then step back and let them handle the rest of it. Dean didn't remind Castiel that he'd meant to come back to him. It was only a subtle difference, but now Dean could see that Castiel seemed well, too -- more sure of himself, even, and Dean could tell the past month or so had done him some good, so he said instead, "Sounds risky."
Castiel seemed faintly huffy, but also faintly amused. "Jimmy has taken to chiding me every time he thinks I'm about to do something you would judge to be stupid."
Despite himself, Dean laughed at this and nodded once in approval. It wasn't much, but it did actually make him feel a little more at ease, knowing Castiel had Jimmy to keep an eye on him, at least. "Good man. I take it you guys are getting along swimmingly in there, then?" He also chose to believe this meant Jimmy wasn't upset at him for kissing them, but he didn't fancy digging that topic back up again.
For a moment Dean thought maybe Castiel was going to inform him that he and Jimmy hadn't gone swimming, but then he dipped his head and confirmed, "Jimmy is not unhappy with me."
"Keep feeding him burgers and he'll stay that way, I bet," Dean replied, even though he had a feeling Jimmy's approval probably stemmed from Castiel using his body to be proactive in the war more than it stemmed from Castiel using his body to pig out. But who said Castiel couldn't do both?
Castiel's expression was one of fond exasperation, and he hesitated for awhile before saying reluctantly, "I should go."
Dean wasn't anywhere near ready to let him go again, not after such a long absence and then only a few short, sweet minutes, but he pursed his lips and nodded wordlessly.
Before the park bench melted away along with the rest of the dream and Dean lost his angel again, Castiel said, with the stilted air of someone trying out a new phrase, "Happy birthday, Dean."
Dean perked up in surprise, because he'd been sure such a trivial thing as his birthday was beneath Castiel's notice, but before he could say anything, he was slipping back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Lucifer began picking up his game, in the weeks after that.
It seemed the leaders of every country in the world were getting their hands on weapons of mass destruction, and those countries that went without were also the ones that went under. Their governments simply caved, or worse, turned on their people and persecuted them to their deaths.
A lot of the countries with weapons of mass destruction used them, too, and not on anyone the analysts had predicted in their pretentious voices. Within the span of four days, China wiped out half of Japan, Italy declared war on Brazil over some soccer game, Canada of all countries bombed France, the list went on. Dean and Sam stopped listening to the news because it wasn't like they could fly all over the world and start exorcising demons out of world leaders everywhere or make them stop throwing darts at maps to determine who they wanted to attack.
So they tried to focus on the shit at home, which was also hitting the fan. Problem was, they didn't know how to fix things like the complete lack of internet or phone services in half the Midwest, or California drowning in the Pacific, or mountains in Nevada actually crumbling and crushing the cities around them. Dean and Sam couldn't stop any of that. All they could do was talk to survivors after the fact, and learn that they were all devil worshipers. Then they'd move grimly on.
It almost seemed like Lucifer was taunting them. Or perhaps he was even taunting the angels, though Dean hoped, for Castiel's sake alone, that he hadn't caught wind of what they were up to.
Either way, he really wasn't all that surprised when he went to sleep one night and dreamed of the devil.
There was no Hell this time, or screaming victims and blood everywhere, only a vast, empty whiteness, with no ground and no sky. Only Lucifer was there, sharp eyed and boyishly pleased with himself. "Ready to reconsider yet, Dean?" he asked gently. "There are still so many innocent people you can save; all you have to do is join me." He made it sound so easy. So nice.
Dean spat on what should have been the ground at his feet, but his bravado was mostly false and Lucifer knew it. He chuckled and changed tactics. "Too bad your pet angel is off conspiring against his former superior, eh?" he asked, voice laced with casual amusement that chilled Dean completely. "I imagine you're probably missing his moral support right about now, but I'm sure he's here with you in spirit even if he can't make it himself." He trailed off suggestively here.
Dean tried his damnedest not to panic and demanded, "What the hell have you done with him?"
"Nothing, yet," Lucifer shrugged elegantly, drawling a little on the yet and making Dean shudder. "Perhaps a more relevant question is what the hell I'm going to do with him if you continue to resist me."
"I already know the answer to that one," Dean growled. "You're not gonna do jack squat with him, I'm not gonna let you."
Lucifer smiled in good humor. It was more than a little bit frightening. "And how, exactly, do you intend to accomplish anything while you're asleep?"
Dean glared, but his fury was impotent. Lucifer could probably keep him trapped here in his own head forever, if he wanted to, and at the same time he could be out there hunting down Castiel--
Castiel, Dean thought, hard, willing Castiel to hear him, but Lucifer shook his head sympathetically.
"Sorry, Dean, he can't hear you."
Dean felt his panic rising, just a little. Regardless of how he felt about Castiel, he couldn't give in to the goddamned devil -- that was out of the question -- so he had to find some way of warning Castiel, but how? He couldn't call him from his dream, and he couldn't wake up until Lucifer let him...
Or perhaps he could. Dean recalled his last dream with Lucifer, and Castiel's voice in his ear, telling him to remember that it wasn't real. He tried that now, tried to focus on the cheap mattress he knew to be underneath him, on the yellowed ceiling above him with its cracked paint, on Sam's snoring a few feet away, on anything other than endless whiteness in every direction. When he saw Lucifer's expression harden, he knew he was on the right track. Dean could almost begin to see and feel the motel now -- if only he could just concentrate a tiny bit harder he would be there.
Lucifer began warningly, "Dean--"
"Castiel," Dean called out loud, and jerked himself awake and upright.
Sam did the same in his bed, startled awake by Dean's yell and gun already in hand. "Wha--?"
There were a tense few moments in which Dean held his breath. If Castiel didn't come, he had no idea what he was going to do. He didn't even know where Castiel was, much less how to get to him before Lucifer did, or how to stop the devil even if he did make it in time.
But then Castiel did appear at the foot of Dean's bed with a loud rustle, and Dean's breath left him in a rush. "Cas!"
His relief was short-lived, though, because it only took a glance to see that Castiel looked terrible. He was visibly shaken and looked nothing short of devastated, eyes traveling around the room almost wildly until they came to rest on Dean's. His mouth was slack and he was breathing too hard, as if he'd just been in the middle of a battle. "What is it?" he demanded, everything about his posture still tense and ready for a fight. "What happened?"
It had Dean and Sam on their feet automatically, but it was Sam who said, "We're okay. What happened to you?"
"Lucifer," was all Castiel said, sounding distracted. His eyes flickered around the room again like he was still expecting trouble before returning to Dean's. "Why have you called?" he asked, sounding a touch confused now.
Dean's heart sank. Lucifer had been too quick for him after all, and now he demanded, "What did he do to you? Are you okay?" Castiel didn't seem injured, only more ruffled and harried than usual, but that didn't mean he was okay.
Castiel shook his head and finally seemed to relax a little. "Not me. But my brothers--" He stopped and his eyes widened, as if something terrible had just sunk in. Then he hesitated, and for a moment Dean was sure he was about to disappear again, but Castiel stayed. When he continued, his voice was decidedly shakier. "My brothers who were working with me -- none of us were expecting Lucifer to appear like that, and they..." He trailed off here and looked away and even though his lips kept moving, no more sound came out.
"Dead?" Sam guessed hesitantly.
The muscle in Castiel's jaw clenched, and that was answer enough. Dean was reeling from the sudden turn of events, but he would figure out what all of it meant for them later. For now, he asked, "How did you get away, then?"
Castiel focused on Dean again and said, "I heard you call, so I came here." Then his voice hardened, and so did his gaze, until he was actually glaring at Dean, who automatically shrunk away a little in surprise. "I left my brothers because I thought you needed me. Only Sariel was still alive when I heard you, and now he is no doubt dead too. At least Lucifer is mercifully quick." His words were sharply bitter, and for some reason he seemed intent on taking all his anger out on Dean.
"Whoa." Dean frowned, beginning to feel a bit defensive. "If that's the case, I'm glad I got you outta there. Come on, Cas, could you and Sariel or whoever really have taken on Lucifer by yourselves when the whole gang of you didn't stand a chance?"
It was the wrong thing to say, apparently. One moment Castiel was standing at the foot of his bed, the next moment he was crowding into Dean's personal space and and growling at him, "I should have stayed."
"No, you shouldn't have," Dean retorted. "He'd have killed you too!"
Castiel's eyes narrowed even further. "I was the one who got them into this mess to begin with," he said dangerously. "I was the one who they were following. And I got them killed."
Dean protested, "Still--"
"And you're the one who let me go off and do all of this," Castiel finished harshly.
"Dude," Dean said, eyebrows shooting up in incredulity. "Are you saying this is my fault?" Castiel didn't reply, and despite himself, Dean could feel his own patience running thin and his anger building at the unfairness of the accusation. He glared back. "You're the one who wanted to warn them, Cas, and you're the one who wanted to rally them against the devil. Sorry to break it to you, but free will comes with the price tag called owning up to what you did. You don't get to find some scapegoat, not this time. I'm sorry your brothers are dead, but it's not my fault."
Castiel didn't stay to argue with him. He disappeared in a light draft of air, and Dean snorted in irritation. "Spineless son of a bitch."
Silence settled over them until Sam's dry voice broke it. "Don't you think you should cut him some slack? I mean, he just watched his brothers get slaughtered, I'm sure he'll take back what he said once he's calmed down a bit."
"Yeah, well, he shouldn't have said it in the first place," Dean muttered, even though he knew Sam was right. He'd been right too, though; Castiel had to learn how to deal with the consequences of his choices, even the unforeseeable ones. Dean shook his head. "Whatever. As long as we're up, we might as well get an early start."
"My turn to shower first," Sam said immediately.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, but if you use up all the hot water I'm gonna make you walk to the diner until your ass is just as frozen as mine."
Sam brushed off the threat and disappeared into the bathroom, and Dean scowled in the general direction of the sky.
***
That night, Castiel appeared beside Dean's bed again. Something about his presence registered even through Dean's light doze, and he opened his eyes to see Castiel standing there and watching him back.
Castiel didn't look shaken or angry anymore, only intensely, desperately lost. His shoulders drooped in abject misery and his stare was at once pleading and terrified, as if he wanted something badly but was afraid Dean might turn him away. Even the way he was standing made him seem smaller than usual, somehow.
Any residual grudge Dean might have been harboring from that morning melted away completely. It seemed so utterly petty, suddenly, to be anything but what Castiel needed. Dean didn't care what they'd said to each other earlier; none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was Castiel, right now. Here he'd been, trying to take his first big step toward free will and independence, only to be crushed under the weight of having the only self-motivated mission he'd ever embarked upon lead to nothing but guilt and devastation and failure. That was the sort of hurt he had to need a friend to help him through, and he'd come to Dean because Dean was his only friend, so there was nothing in the world that could make Dean turn him away now. Dean just wished he didn't look so unsure of his welcome.
He didn't have any words to make it better, though, and considering where words had gotten them earlier, he thought maybe it would be best to leave those for tomorrow anyway. Anything that needed to be said could wait for that long, at least. Castiel remained silent too, so, not knowing what else to do, Dean simply scooted back on his small bed and lifted the corner of his comforter in a silent invitation. He glanced quickly over at Sam as he did so, but Sam was still asleep and he figured this was probably a dream anyway.
When his eyes found Castiel's again, it was all the invitation he needed. He crawled into Dean's bed, tucked himself under Dean's chin and curled into him, and held on to Dean, all without hesitation, as if this was exactly what he'd been too afraid to ask for. Dean was a little surprised at just how comfortable Castiel was with getting into bed with him, but he wrapped both the comforter and his arm around Castiel's shoulder and didn't dwell on it.
It felt awkward and clunky, and the first thing Dean did was to toe Castiel's shoes off and kick them out of bed. Castiel lay still and wordless against him and allowed it to happen, so after only a brief moment's hesitation, Dean pushed the suit jacket and trench coat off of his shoulder too. Getting the other half off was more tricky since Castiel was lying on it, but again, he didn't protest when Dean rolled them until Castiel was half on top of him and he could get to the coats more easily. Castiel even helped a little this time, slipping his arm out of the sleeves and then curling it trustingly around Dean's body, and Dean pushed the coats out of bed too and made sure the comforter was wrapped around Castiel's entire body. He doubted Castiel actually minded the chill of the motel room with its crappy heater, but still, maybe he would appreciate the warmth on some other level.
Then Dean rolled them back onto their sides and finally hugged Castiel hard, with strength that would have squeezed the air out of anyone else. Castiel only tightened his own arms around Dean, burrowed deeper into the crook of his neck, and seemed to want more. So Dean hugged him as hard as he could and for as long as he could, like he could fix everything if only he could hug Castiel enough. He couldn't, but it seemed to help, at least, because after a long while, Castiel took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed into him. Dean let his arms relax too, because they'd been getting sore, and he didn't care at all that the arm Castiel was lying on would probably lose feeling soon. He used his other hand to rub Castiel's back through the thin cotton of his dress shirt because he had seemed to like that the first time Dean had hugged him, and Castiel actually nuzzled him a little in an attempt to get even closer.
Dean didn't find it awkward this time, and he wasn't uncomfortable at all. All he felt was a sad, quiet sort of tenderness that couldn't hide behind a wall of words now that they had stripped that wall away and there was nothing between them anymore.
Dean would have given almost anything to have been able to protect Castiel from needing this, but now that Castiel was here with him and in his arms, he found that a part of himself was shamefully grateful, too. He was grateful for being able to hold Castiel close after two months of missing him so much, he was grateful to be the one Castiel still came back to when everything else went to shit, and mostly, he was just grateful that Castiel was safe. Dean stroked his back slowly and thought that regardless of what Castiel had lost and how much it was going to set him back, at least Dean could still give him this little bit of sanctuary, and maybe he could go from here and try again. And this time, Dean would be nothing but supportive from the very beginning. He just hoped it would be enough.
For now, he held Castiel against his own body and told himself that he wasn't actually kissing Castiel just because his lips were pressed into his hair. They were just lying that close together, and in any case, Castiel seemed to trust him to not try anything. Dean didn't, of course, not just because he'd promised he wouldn't, but because this wouldn't have been the time for it anyway, not when all he wanted was for Castiel to be okay.
So Dean rubbed his back until he eventually dozed off again, feeling warm and sleepy, but even then he didn't let go.
Part 13
Title: And I Will Walk On Water (12/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam, Lucifer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,400
Notes:
ibroketuesday has infinite patience with me, for some reason. ♥Summary: In which Dean actually does miss Castiel but tries to be happy for him anyway because things are going well, until they stop going well.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11
Dean didn't miss Castiel. At all. Except for the part where he kept perking up in an irrational sort of hope every time he heard a rustle behind him, and the part where he always glanced twice at anything tan-colored he happened to see out of the corner of his eye, and the part where he had a moment of wishing Castiel was around to not laugh at his jokes every time he told one, and the part where--
Perhaps it was time to change his name to Deanna, Dean thought disparagingly, since he was such a big freaking girl and all.
Sam would love that, giant twerp that he was. In this case, 'giant' referred to both his size and the degree of his twerpiness. Despite Dean's constant insistence that he was just concerned for Castiel's safety (which was true; it just wasn't the whole truth), Sam never missed an opportunity to tease him about missing his boyfriend, especially since that time Dean had denied the boyfriend label but had forgotten to deny that he missed him. The look of utter glee on Sam's face had been insufferable. Or so Dean had pretended, anyway.
Truth of it was, there wasn't much aside from teasing Dean about Castiel that made Sam happy these days, even momentarily, so Dean couldn't help but secretly enjoy his stupid, toothy grins. They were Sammy grins, and every time he saw one, he felt like his little brother -- that sasquatch kid who looked up to him and glued beer bottles to his hand -- was still in there somewhere, buried beneath the guilt and the demon blood, and maybe Dean could even dig him out one day.
He was even more heartened when Sam said from the passenger seat, "Speaking of Cas..." (Dean glared automatically.) "Didn't he say an archangel could burn the demon blood out of me?"
Dean could guess where this was going. "Michael?"
"Yeah."
"He's a dick." Dean, of course, still hadn't forgiven the bastard.
Sam rolled his eyes. "So you've said, about ten times. Doesn't mean he wouldn't do it."
"I don't trust him," Dean replied. "We still don't even know what he wanted with Cas." It was enough for him that Sam wanted to be rid of the demon blood, almost. That was his Sammy, and Dean had already reevaluated his prejudices and accepted that his Sammy had always had that demon blood in him. What mattered was what he did, not what he was, right? And what he'd done was avoid demon blood and freaky powers for months, long enough for Dean's constant fears that he would slip up to begin to ease. Besides, he could hardly fault Sam for not being entirely human when he didn't fault Castiel for not being human at all.
As far as supernatural things went, angels were about as high on the list as it was possible to get. Even demons and werewolves and things had been human once, or at least, things Dean could find a part of himself to relate to, but angels were an entirely different story altogether. Dean still caught himself wondering, sometimes, what Castiel actually was, hidden behind Jimmy Novak's blue eyes and wrapped up in a rumpled trench coat.
If he thought about it for too long, well, he'd probably find it a little bit terrifying if he didn't trust Castiel so much. Castiel had shoehorned and slipped his way so far into Dean's life that he was a permanent fixture there now, even when he was absent, and yet, his familiarity was somehow deceptive because for every thing Dean knew about him, there had to be a million things he didn't know, things so far beyond his human scope of comprehension that he could never hope to know -- like how old Castiel was, or what he'd done during those thousands or millions or however many years before he'd received an order to retrieve Dean from Hell, or what kinds of things he'd experienced in all that time that had shaped him. Dean didn't know what Castiel knew or didn't know, or what he could or couldn't do; he didn't even know what Castiel looked like, because he simply wasn't capable of knowing.
He wanted to know, though. It didn't seem fair to Castiel that he only had one person left in his life who he could turn to and that person barely even knew or understood him at all. Dean imagined that to be intensely lonely, and it made him want to know everything about Castiel, like he knew everything about Sam. He also wanted to know just for the sake of knowing, because it was Castiel, and the fact that he didn't was like an itch under his skin. He even caught himself wondering, once or twice, if it would be worth being blind for the rest of his life if he could just catch a single glimpse of this vast, unknowable being who'd somehow become his friend. Of course, it was stupid and soppy and Dean would never actually do it even if Castiel was willing to show him his true form, but still, it didn't stop a tiny part of Dean from envying Jimmy and Pamela that knowledge of his Cas that he didn't have. He wished now that he'd thought to ask them, when he'd had the chance.
The picture-taking noise on Sam's cell phone distracted Dean from his thoughts. He glanced over, and Sam smirked and showed him a picture of himself looking distinctly wistful (but still very manly, of course). "It's your Cas-daydream face," Sam explained cheerfully.
Dean groused, "I do not have a Cas-daydream face."
"Dude, you were practically drooling," the giant brat smirked. "You should've given Cas a cell phone before he left, I'm sure he misses you too and would've appreciated this picture."
For a moment, Dean actually had an image of Castiel fumbling with a cell phone and trying to open picture mail. He caught himself before a fond smirk could actually steal across his lips and made a swipe for Sam's phone, but Sam snatched it out of his reach with a laugh. "Bitch."
And of course, Sam replied, "Jerk."
***
Sam wasn't always such a bitch, though.
On Christmas Day, Dean woke to eggnog and a small Christmas tree on the nightstand by his bed. At the top sat a little plastic angel Dean suspected Sam had painted tan himself, and he huffed a little when he saw it.
"Merry Christmas, Dean," Sam said, and handed Dean a neatly wrapped present. It was an almost startling contrast to the year before, when Christmas had come and gone unmentioned because they hadn't felt like celebrating it and they especially hadn't felt like celebrating it together, and Dean thought it was a little bit ironic that he was happier now that the apocalypse was actually upon them. He shook his head to himself and unwrapped his first present in forty-one years. It was just a flask with a cool looking "W" engraved in it, but it was perfect.
"Thanks," he said with a lopsided smile, and reached into his bag for Sam's gift, which was much less neatly wrapped.
He'd gotten Sam an external hard drive, and Sam asked with some dry amusement as he unwrapped it, "Is this actually for me or were you planning on slowly filling it up with porn?"
"How do you know it isn't already filled with porn?"
Sam just shook his head with a small snort and said, "If anything on here gives me a virus, there will be flatworms in your next fish taco."
"Cheers, bro," Dean grinned, holding up his mug of eggnog, and Sam clinked his against it.
They spent most of the day alternately watching and mocking TV, and it was... a lot of fun. Dean hadn't had this much fun with Sam in years, actually, even before he'd gone to Hell, and without an entirely imminent death hanging over his head, it was easily the best Christmas they'd had since they'd been kids. Watching Sam twirl his hair around in an imitation of Paris Hilton, Dean could almost, almost forget that this was a man who'd once been addicted to demon blood, who'd chosen a demon over him, who'd broken the last seal and unleashed Satan on the world. Sam was half nerd, half puppy, and all Dean's little brother. More than that, though, Dean supposed they were friends, too, now that he had a better frame of reference where those were concerned.
It would've been a perfect day, but for the absence of a certain angel of the lord. Dean was proud of himself for not letting his eyes wander over to the little plastic angel on top of the tree too often, but when Sam headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Dean finally did glance over at it. Part of him had hoped Castiel would surprise them by showing up, even briefly, but it was a foolish, maudlin hope and he knew it. Castiel had only been gone for nine days, and besides, Dean had heard that Christ hadn't even been born on this day. Of course Castiel hadn't actually shown up, so now Dean raised his mug of eggnog at the plastic angel in a small toast and said quietly, "I know you can hear me, Cas, so Merry Christmas, wherever you are. And your ass had better still be in one piece."
Then he downed the rest of the eggnog and went to dig through his bag for something more comfortable to wear, resolutely ignoring the bag of Hershey's Hugs in there that he'd bought the other day, just in case.
***
Thirty-nine days after Castiel had left for his garrison (not that anyone was counting, of course), Dean finally got to see him again. It was only a dream, he could tell, but it was good enough for him.
"Cas!" he said delightedly, turning on the park bench to see Castiel sitting beside him, so close and warm and Cas-like. Castiel didn't even look a tiny bit different -- still those big, blue eyes and messy hair and serene expression -- and Dean didn't know why that surprised him. Perhaps it was because the time had seemed to drag for him, and yet, looking at Castiel now, it felt like no time had passed at all. It didn't matter, Dean supposed; in the end he was still just as friggin' happy to see the bastard, and ten different kinds of relieved.
Dean's grin was reflected in the small quirk playing about Castiel's lips, though he didn't seem to quite grasp exactly what Dean was so happy about. "Hello, Dean. You seem.. well," he observed with a slight tilt of the head.
"Yeah, well, Sam and I ganked a whole nest of vampires today, plus I had a mean burger and apple pie, plus a personal visit from John Constantine?" Dean shrugged. "Life could be shabbier."
A crease appeared between Castiel's eyebrows. "Who is John Const--"
"Cas," Dean interrupted, shaking a bit from a silent chuckle. "It's good to see you." And fuck, but that was true. Just the sight of Castiel -- oh god, Dean's testosterone was losing a battle against his estrogen as he sat there, he could feel it. His only consolation was that he hadn't tried to hug him or something, at least. (Yet.)
Castiel stopped talking and his eyes grew wider, and then he smiled at Dean, a little bigger this time but also more shy, in a way. "And you, though I have seen you a bit more often."
The smile did things to Dean's stomach that he tried to distract himself from by muttering, "Creep." It was nice, though, to know Castiel hadn't actually abandoned him, and it was even nicer when Castiel's smile grew. Dean cleared his throat. "So, how goes Mission: Impossible?"
"It's not impossible," Castiel told him, and he sounded almost proud as he said, "Four of my brothers had already begun doubting Zachariah's true intentions because he still hasn't done anything about Lucifer yet, so they have joined me in spreading the word."
Maybe, Dean thought, Castiel only sounded proud to his ears because he himself was damn proud of Castiel. Either way, he gave Castiel a clap on the back. "Way to go, Cas, I always knew you could kick Mr. Scientology's ass with your angel-of-the-lord...ness."
Surprisingly, Castiel looked perplexed. It was endearing enough to make part of Dean ache a little, and he couldn't help but say, "Never stop being perpetually perplexed, okay?" Castiel didn't stop being perplexed, and Dean smirked. "What happens now, then, you gonna build yourself an army?" He was happy for Castiel, he really was, and maybe he was even beginning to have a speck of hope that Castiel could actually accomplish something with this harebrained idea of his, but he had a feeling it meant Castiel would be even more scarce in the future.
He was right. Castiel replied, "We are far from being strong enough in numbers yet, but when we are, we will fight Lucifer."
Dean let out a low whistle. "Big plans there, Cas," he said mildly, and didn't remind Castiel that when he'd first set out, he'd only meant to warn the other angels about Lucifer and then step back and let them handle the rest of it. Dean didn't remind Castiel that he'd meant to come back to him. It was only a subtle difference, but now Dean could see that Castiel seemed well, too -- more sure of himself, even, and Dean could tell the past month or so had done him some good, so he said instead, "Sounds risky."
Castiel seemed faintly huffy, but also faintly amused. "Jimmy has taken to chiding me every time he thinks I'm about to do something you would judge to be stupid."
Despite himself, Dean laughed at this and nodded once in approval. It wasn't much, but it did actually make him feel a little more at ease, knowing Castiel had Jimmy to keep an eye on him, at least. "Good man. I take it you guys are getting along swimmingly in there, then?" He also chose to believe this meant Jimmy wasn't upset at him for kissing them, but he didn't fancy digging that topic back up again.
For a moment Dean thought maybe Castiel was going to inform him that he and Jimmy hadn't gone swimming, but then he dipped his head and confirmed, "Jimmy is not unhappy with me."
"Keep feeding him burgers and he'll stay that way, I bet," Dean replied, even though he had a feeling Jimmy's approval probably stemmed from Castiel using his body to be proactive in the war more than it stemmed from Castiel using his body to pig out. But who said Castiel couldn't do both?
Castiel's expression was one of fond exasperation, and he hesitated for awhile before saying reluctantly, "I should go."
Dean wasn't anywhere near ready to let him go again, not after such a long absence and then only a few short, sweet minutes, but he pursed his lips and nodded wordlessly.
Before the park bench melted away along with the rest of the dream and Dean lost his angel again, Castiel said, with the stilted air of someone trying out a new phrase, "Happy birthday, Dean."
Dean perked up in surprise, because he'd been sure such a trivial thing as his birthday was beneath Castiel's notice, but before he could say anything, he was slipping back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Lucifer began picking up his game, in the weeks after that.
It seemed the leaders of every country in the world were getting their hands on weapons of mass destruction, and those countries that went without were also the ones that went under. Their governments simply caved, or worse, turned on their people and persecuted them to their deaths.
A lot of the countries with weapons of mass destruction used them, too, and not on anyone the analysts had predicted in their pretentious voices. Within the span of four days, China wiped out half of Japan, Italy declared war on Brazil over some soccer game, Canada of all countries bombed France, the list went on. Dean and Sam stopped listening to the news because it wasn't like they could fly all over the world and start exorcising demons out of world leaders everywhere or make them stop throwing darts at maps to determine who they wanted to attack.
So they tried to focus on the shit at home, which was also hitting the fan. Problem was, they didn't know how to fix things like the complete lack of internet or phone services in half the Midwest, or California drowning in the Pacific, or mountains in Nevada actually crumbling and crushing the cities around them. Dean and Sam couldn't stop any of that. All they could do was talk to survivors after the fact, and learn that they were all devil worshipers. Then they'd move grimly on.
It almost seemed like Lucifer was taunting them. Or perhaps he was even taunting the angels, though Dean hoped, for Castiel's sake alone, that he hadn't caught wind of what they were up to.
Either way, he really wasn't all that surprised when he went to sleep one night and dreamed of the devil.
There was no Hell this time, or screaming victims and blood everywhere, only a vast, empty whiteness, with no ground and no sky. Only Lucifer was there, sharp eyed and boyishly pleased with himself. "Ready to reconsider yet, Dean?" he asked gently. "There are still so many innocent people you can save; all you have to do is join me." He made it sound so easy. So nice.
Dean spat on what should have been the ground at his feet, but his bravado was mostly false and Lucifer knew it. He chuckled and changed tactics. "Too bad your pet angel is off conspiring against his former superior, eh?" he asked, voice laced with casual amusement that chilled Dean completely. "I imagine you're probably missing his moral support right about now, but I'm sure he's here with you in spirit even if he can't make it himself." He trailed off suggestively here.
Dean tried his damnedest not to panic and demanded, "What the hell have you done with him?"
"Nothing, yet," Lucifer shrugged elegantly, drawling a little on the yet and making Dean shudder. "Perhaps a more relevant question is what the hell I'm going to do with him if you continue to resist me."
"I already know the answer to that one," Dean growled. "You're not gonna do jack squat with him, I'm not gonna let you."
Lucifer smiled in good humor. It was more than a little bit frightening. "And how, exactly, do you intend to accomplish anything while you're asleep?"
Dean glared, but his fury was impotent. Lucifer could probably keep him trapped here in his own head forever, if he wanted to, and at the same time he could be out there hunting down Castiel--
Castiel, Dean thought, hard, willing Castiel to hear him, but Lucifer shook his head sympathetically.
"Sorry, Dean, he can't hear you."
Dean felt his panic rising, just a little. Regardless of how he felt about Castiel, he couldn't give in to the goddamned devil -- that was out of the question -- so he had to find some way of warning Castiel, but how? He couldn't call him from his dream, and he couldn't wake up until Lucifer let him...
Or perhaps he could. Dean recalled his last dream with Lucifer, and Castiel's voice in his ear, telling him to remember that it wasn't real. He tried that now, tried to focus on the cheap mattress he knew to be underneath him, on the yellowed ceiling above him with its cracked paint, on Sam's snoring a few feet away, on anything other than endless whiteness in every direction. When he saw Lucifer's expression harden, he knew he was on the right track. Dean could almost begin to see and feel the motel now -- if only he could just concentrate a tiny bit harder he would be there.
Lucifer began warningly, "Dean--"
"Castiel," Dean called out loud, and jerked himself awake and upright.
Sam did the same in his bed, startled awake by Dean's yell and gun already in hand. "Wha--?"
There were a tense few moments in which Dean held his breath. If Castiel didn't come, he had no idea what he was going to do. He didn't even know where Castiel was, much less how to get to him before Lucifer did, or how to stop the devil even if he did make it in time.
But then Castiel did appear at the foot of Dean's bed with a loud rustle, and Dean's breath left him in a rush. "Cas!"
His relief was short-lived, though, because it only took a glance to see that Castiel looked terrible. He was visibly shaken and looked nothing short of devastated, eyes traveling around the room almost wildly until they came to rest on Dean's. His mouth was slack and he was breathing too hard, as if he'd just been in the middle of a battle. "What is it?" he demanded, everything about his posture still tense and ready for a fight. "What happened?"
It had Dean and Sam on their feet automatically, but it was Sam who said, "We're okay. What happened to you?"
"Lucifer," was all Castiel said, sounding distracted. His eyes flickered around the room again like he was still expecting trouble before returning to Dean's. "Why have you called?" he asked, sounding a touch confused now.
Dean's heart sank. Lucifer had been too quick for him after all, and now he demanded, "What did he do to you? Are you okay?" Castiel didn't seem injured, only more ruffled and harried than usual, but that didn't mean he was okay.
Castiel shook his head and finally seemed to relax a little. "Not me. But my brothers--" He stopped and his eyes widened, as if something terrible had just sunk in. Then he hesitated, and for a moment Dean was sure he was about to disappear again, but Castiel stayed. When he continued, his voice was decidedly shakier. "My brothers who were working with me -- none of us were expecting Lucifer to appear like that, and they..." He trailed off here and looked away and even though his lips kept moving, no more sound came out.
"Dead?" Sam guessed hesitantly.
The muscle in Castiel's jaw clenched, and that was answer enough. Dean was reeling from the sudden turn of events, but he would figure out what all of it meant for them later. For now, he asked, "How did you get away, then?"
Castiel focused on Dean again and said, "I heard you call, so I came here." Then his voice hardened, and so did his gaze, until he was actually glaring at Dean, who automatically shrunk away a little in surprise. "I left my brothers because I thought you needed me. Only Sariel was still alive when I heard you, and now he is no doubt dead too. At least Lucifer is mercifully quick." His words were sharply bitter, and for some reason he seemed intent on taking all his anger out on Dean.
"Whoa." Dean frowned, beginning to feel a bit defensive. "If that's the case, I'm glad I got you outta there. Come on, Cas, could you and Sariel or whoever really have taken on Lucifer by yourselves when the whole gang of you didn't stand a chance?"
It was the wrong thing to say, apparently. One moment Castiel was standing at the foot of his bed, the next moment he was crowding into Dean's personal space and and growling at him, "I should have stayed."
"No, you shouldn't have," Dean retorted. "He'd have killed you too!"
Castiel's eyes narrowed even further. "I was the one who got them into this mess to begin with," he said dangerously. "I was the one who they were following. And I got them killed."
Dean protested, "Still--"
"And you're the one who let me go off and do all of this," Castiel finished harshly.
"Dude," Dean said, eyebrows shooting up in incredulity. "Are you saying this is my fault?" Castiel didn't reply, and despite himself, Dean could feel his own patience running thin and his anger building at the unfairness of the accusation. He glared back. "You're the one who wanted to warn them, Cas, and you're the one who wanted to rally them against the devil. Sorry to break it to you, but free will comes with the price tag called owning up to what you did. You don't get to find some scapegoat, not this time. I'm sorry your brothers are dead, but it's not my fault."
Castiel didn't stay to argue with him. He disappeared in a light draft of air, and Dean snorted in irritation. "Spineless son of a bitch."
Silence settled over them until Sam's dry voice broke it. "Don't you think you should cut him some slack? I mean, he just watched his brothers get slaughtered, I'm sure he'll take back what he said once he's calmed down a bit."
"Yeah, well, he shouldn't have said it in the first place," Dean muttered, even though he knew Sam was right. He'd been right too, though; Castiel had to learn how to deal with the consequences of his choices, even the unforeseeable ones. Dean shook his head. "Whatever. As long as we're up, we might as well get an early start."
"My turn to shower first," Sam said immediately.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, but if you use up all the hot water I'm gonna make you walk to the diner until your ass is just as frozen as mine."
Sam brushed off the threat and disappeared into the bathroom, and Dean scowled in the general direction of the sky.
***
That night, Castiel appeared beside Dean's bed again. Something about his presence registered even through Dean's light doze, and he opened his eyes to see Castiel standing there and watching him back.
Castiel didn't look shaken or angry anymore, only intensely, desperately lost. His shoulders drooped in abject misery and his stare was at once pleading and terrified, as if he wanted something badly but was afraid Dean might turn him away. Even the way he was standing made him seem smaller than usual, somehow.
Any residual grudge Dean might have been harboring from that morning melted away completely. It seemed so utterly petty, suddenly, to be anything but what Castiel needed. Dean didn't care what they'd said to each other earlier; none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was Castiel, right now. Here he'd been, trying to take his first big step toward free will and independence, only to be crushed under the weight of having the only self-motivated mission he'd ever embarked upon lead to nothing but guilt and devastation and failure. That was the sort of hurt he had to need a friend to help him through, and he'd come to Dean because Dean was his only friend, so there was nothing in the world that could make Dean turn him away now. Dean just wished he didn't look so unsure of his welcome.
He didn't have any words to make it better, though, and considering where words had gotten them earlier, he thought maybe it would be best to leave those for tomorrow anyway. Anything that needed to be said could wait for that long, at least. Castiel remained silent too, so, not knowing what else to do, Dean simply scooted back on his small bed and lifted the corner of his comforter in a silent invitation. He glanced quickly over at Sam as he did so, but Sam was still asleep and he figured this was probably a dream anyway.
When his eyes found Castiel's again, it was all the invitation he needed. He crawled into Dean's bed, tucked himself under Dean's chin and curled into him, and held on to Dean, all without hesitation, as if this was exactly what he'd been too afraid to ask for. Dean was a little surprised at just how comfortable Castiel was with getting into bed with him, but he wrapped both the comforter and his arm around Castiel's shoulder and didn't dwell on it.
It felt awkward and clunky, and the first thing Dean did was to toe Castiel's shoes off and kick them out of bed. Castiel lay still and wordless against him and allowed it to happen, so after only a brief moment's hesitation, Dean pushed the suit jacket and trench coat off of his shoulder too. Getting the other half off was more tricky since Castiel was lying on it, but again, he didn't protest when Dean rolled them until Castiel was half on top of him and he could get to the coats more easily. Castiel even helped a little this time, slipping his arm out of the sleeves and then curling it trustingly around Dean's body, and Dean pushed the coats out of bed too and made sure the comforter was wrapped around Castiel's entire body. He doubted Castiel actually minded the chill of the motel room with its crappy heater, but still, maybe he would appreciate the warmth on some other level.
Then Dean rolled them back onto their sides and finally hugged Castiel hard, with strength that would have squeezed the air out of anyone else. Castiel only tightened his own arms around Dean, burrowed deeper into the crook of his neck, and seemed to want more. So Dean hugged him as hard as he could and for as long as he could, like he could fix everything if only he could hug Castiel enough. He couldn't, but it seemed to help, at least, because after a long while, Castiel took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed into him. Dean let his arms relax too, because they'd been getting sore, and he didn't care at all that the arm Castiel was lying on would probably lose feeling soon. He used his other hand to rub Castiel's back through the thin cotton of his dress shirt because he had seemed to like that the first time Dean had hugged him, and Castiel actually nuzzled him a little in an attempt to get even closer.
Dean didn't find it awkward this time, and he wasn't uncomfortable at all. All he felt was a sad, quiet sort of tenderness that couldn't hide behind a wall of words now that they had stripped that wall away and there was nothing between them anymore.
Dean would have given almost anything to have been able to protect Castiel from needing this, but now that Castiel was here with him and in his arms, he found that a part of himself was shamefully grateful, too. He was grateful for being able to hold Castiel close after two months of missing him so much, he was grateful to be the one Castiel still came back to when everything else went to shit, and mostly, he was just grateful that Castiel was safe. Dean stroked his back slowly and thought that regardless of what Castiel had lost and how much it was going to set him back, at least Dean could still give him this little bit of sanctuary, and maybe he could go from here and try again. And this time, Dean would be nothing but supportive from the very beginning. He just hoped it would be enough.
For now, he held Castiel against his own body and told himself that he wasn't actually kissing Castiel just because his lips were pressed into his hair. They were just lying that close together, and in any case, Castiel seemed to trust him to not try anything. Dean didn't, of course, not just because he'd promised he wouldn't, but because this wouldn't have been the time for it anyway, not when all he wanted was for Castiel to be okay.
So Dean rubbed his back until he eventually dozed off again, feeling warm and sleepy, but even then he didn't let go.
Part 13
