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Dean is four when he realises he's different – or rather, that he's becoming different.
They're house-hunting, or at least that's what it's called; Dean thinks it's a weird way to say it, because it sounds like it'd be fun (with stalking and shooting and hiding behind bushes), when it actually is only boring. He does mind, but not terribly so; his mom is brewing a little brother or a little sister for him, and they want to be in the new house before he or she hatches because the one they're living in is too small for two adults and two children, and that, Dean understands. He wants a bigger backyard, preferably with a forest, so he can show them what real hunting is like.
But that's not all that weird.
He has met other children, of course he has, but his mom is the most beautiful mom in the whole universe and Dean likes to spend as much time with her as possible. Still, he has had some comparing material, and up until that point, he had no reason to think he was any different from them, except their moms aren't as great as his, but then again, none are. And of course he's different from adults; he's a child, after all. Adults have grown tall, but also blind and stupid, that's normal (Dean never wants to grow up).
So, he's not all that surprised when they don't understand when he tells them when a house they're looking at is smelly (it's a bad smell, a biting smell that brings tears to his eyes, but he's not a baby; it's simply too awful a smell for him to be able to deal with). Another house, he's too panicked to be not-surprised that they don't know what's going on; he doesn't want to go inside, he can't go inside, and he screams when they try to leave him behind. Dean never does that, he never behaves like that, and because he's freaked out so badly, they don't go inside (they say long words like "hysterical" and later, his mom has a long, worried conversation with him about whether he really wants the new brother or sister or not). He can't even say what he doesn't like about the house; he just knows the thought of him or his parents going inside terrifies him.
No. Dean first gets an inkling that he might be different the day his parents read in the newspaper (he hates the newspaper because his father reads it instead of looking at him, but he likes it after because one can do cool things with it, like fold hats or boats) that another family had made a tour of the house, and it had come crashing down around them, literally.
They don't say anything to Dean, but he can hear them talking in the kitchen, and he sits on his bed and wonders how he knew the house was bad. It wasn't anything he heard, or smelled, or saw, at least not as far as he can remember; he just... but he remembers that it had looked weird to him, and when the wind rose it had-, and the smell had been different, not as bitingly as from that other house, more wetly unpleasant, and-
Dean thinks about when his mother cooks, when she puts a thousand small delicious or not-so-delicious things together to create something great, and he thinks, perhaps the house was something like that? A thousand small bad things that he had noticed, but wouldn't have paid attention to if he hadn't suddenly gotten so scared?
But he doesn't know, he can't think, and the thought that he could have known something bad was going on, that he could maybe have saved that family, is too much. It twists him with guilt, so he doesn't think about it anymore.
He pays more attention, though. It's not even a conscious decision, he just suddenly notices all the small little things that he knows he noticed before, but never realised he knew. He notices that he knows his father went to the store to buy present-chocolate for his mom as a surprise before his father pulls it out because he smells a little different, not just of the garage he works at but of foodstuff and otherstuff and people; if he tries really hard, Dean can smell the paper and foil the chocolate is wrapped in, and the chocolate inside. After a while, he can even tell which brand of chocolate smells how, and if there's nuts inside the chocolate or not.
Dean knows other people aren't like that, because his mom is surprised when his father gives her chocolate. But it's the day he notices that he's not just different from adults (up until then, he had thought they had just grown out of it, like they had grown out of fairytales and magic; he didn't want to say anything to them to not make them sad for what they had lost), that other children aren't like him either, that it's not the others, it's him.
It's not the others that are different, it's Dean.
*
He's nine, and he's still different, but now he knows he's what is called a Sentinel, and that there are others like him. There's also people called Guides, and Guides are there to help Sentinels when things get bad – like that time when he freaked out at the house as a kid, or when he accidentally focuses to hard on something and zones out; it's not his fault, he knows now.
They tell him it's alright and send him to classes. His mother keeps stroking his head and apologising, and she tells his dad when she thinks he can't hear that she feels he failed him by not noticing, that it was necessary for a tester at school to inform her about something essential about her son.
Dean wonders what she would have done if he had told her, and he feels bad for making her feel bad.
Sammy thinks he's a monster and doesn't want to stay in the same room with him anymore. He's scared.
*
He's seventeen, and the girls at school are repulsive; their smell clouds his senses with its many perfumes and chemicals. He makes himself like them anyway, because he doesn't know what else to do. There's something he needs, and he can pretend he finds it when he enamours himself with a girl.
*
He's twenty-four, and he's still alone.
It's mostly okay, though. He has visited classes with other Sentinels to learn how to deal, and he's considering working free-lance for the police as a Sentinel; they're always very happy to instigate someone like him to help the CSI. Murderers on which a Sentinel helped investigate and interpret evidence are sixty percent more likely to get solved than any others. But he's content working at the garage; he likes cars and engines, and Bobby is a good boss and surprisingly good at dragging him out of a zone-out.
His mother used to try to make him go to mixer-ups; she's totally smitten with the idea of him finding his guide and having a happy little family for himself, but Dean honestly doesn't know what the fuss is all about. Sure, Guides are probably useful, and they have some abilities of their own that mix well with those of Sentinels, but Dean manages on his own quite fine, thank you. He doesn't need a stranger poking into his own business, hell, he doesn't even appreciate his family poking into what's his own business. Most Sentinels don't quite agree, though; neither do most Guides and most Humans, actually. They all consider the Sentinel-Guide bonding to be so romantic it makes Dean sick just thinking about it.
Thankfully, his mother has gotten that, and apart from a few looks here and there, she has gotten off his case. Dean has the suspicion that the combined forces of his brother and father had a play in that, but he honestly doesn't care much as long as she just stops. When Sam had brought home Jess, she had tried to bring up the issue with Dean again, but Dean had blocked her, and she had gotten the message.
If he's honest with himself, sometimes he thinks she's right, that all the books and pamphlets and couples are right; he needs someone. There's something missing in him, and when he stops to think about it, the empty not-space suddenly feels like a chasm; a chasm he desperately needs to fill, but how?
He doesn't stop to think about it, though – and if he has a little more sex and a little more alcohol and a little more work than he should, well, he's a young man; he's supposed to be like that. Point is, he might need someone, but he doesn't want them, and he sure as hell doesn't expect them. He can get his sex from faceless girls, and if he needs social contact that is less meaningless, he calls his parents or Sam.
He's good.
*
They're on vacation; the whole family. Mary, John, Dean, Sam and Jess drove to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, to have some 'family time', and Dean is enjoying it more than he is comfortable with. He likes having many people around him, as long as the people are people he can trust.
It's the fourth day of their six-day vacation, and Dean has been feeling restless. That's not exactly usual, but not too unusual either; unusual is that he can't push it away. His only guess is that he can't quite deal with having nothing to do (no chicks, no bars, no cars; what is he supposed to do with himself?), because he's been feeling out of the loop for a couple of days already, and so he does what he did before; he concentrates on his family, and he steals Sam's books and reads. Thankfully, so far Sam hasn't quite realised that he's actually reading them, not just stealing them as part of the brother-I-miss-you ritual.
It worsens when they go to the beach. The weather is good, if a little windy; warm, but not hot, and the water is nice too (or at least, that's what people say – Dean can't quite differentiate what the general public would deem "nice" or not, because everything can become unpleasant to him if he focuses too much, and subsequently, even if something is termed "unpleasant" by other people, he can make it pleasant to him by alternately concentrating on or pushing away the details; thus, his judgement is a little skewed). But still, Dean feels weird, uncomfortable, like he really needs to do something right now, but he has no idea what. The salt and sand in the air chafe against his skin, and the tiny drops of water feel weird, like acid. The surf is too loud, echoing in his ear canals, and the voices of people grate against his eardrums. This is supposed to be a relaxing, remote part of the beach, but he hears ships and engines and cars and it's all too much, too much; he can't blind it out.
But he doesn't zone-out. He doesn't get lost in his senses, and he doesn't even know if that's actually a good thing; at least then everything would be okay again once someone manages to drag him out of it (Jess is surprisingly good at it, especially considering he's the first Sentinel she's ever been close to).
She can't drag him out if he's not in it, though, and so he deals as best as he can; concentrates on not becoming too overwhelmed, trying not to think about what's going on, what's wrong with him, if he's finally going insane. He has heard of this happening to others, but he had never even considered he could be in any danger. At least not this way; every Sentinel knows that anytime they zone-out, they're in danger of never getting out of it again. There's institutes for Sentinels that happened to, and Guides flock in and walk through every room, trying to help where everybody else failed. Sometimes they manage, most times they don't; Dean only knows he never wants this to happen to him.
He tries not to wonder if this is how it starts.
In fact, he's so busy not thinking about it that he doesn't even notice at first the cacophony of noise and feelings fading; it's like somewhere, there is a white noise, muting the tinnitus of his senses going rampant.
Dean follows the white noise.
*
He doesn't know what this is, he doesn't know; there's something wrong, something missing.
There always has been; always something missing, but Castiel never admitted it, not to himself, not to any of his siblings, especially not his twin, Jimmy. Because Jimmy has Amelia and Castiel knows what's wrong with him, and he really doesn't want to involve them both in what is basically his own, personal problem. Jimmy knows exactly what he's missing, and Castiel can't deal with it – he's not jealous, could never be when Jimmy is so visibly happy, when he can feel how content Jimmy is, but he couldn't bear if Jimmy would acknowledge that there's a chasm in Castiel. An emptiness that needs to be filled by someone, an emptiness that is in every unbonded Guide and Sentinel; but Guides aren't allowed to talk about it unless they have been invited to, and Castiel won't give Jimmy that invitation. Can't.
But right now, it's worse, and at the same time, there's something-
Castiel brushes his fingers against his twin's elbow and gets up, leaves.
*
Dean doesn't know why, among the number of people on the beach, it's that guy that his eyes find immediately, without a fault.
But he knows that the moment he sees him, actually sees him, it's as if an electric jolt went through his body and he stops; stops walking, freezes and just looks.
The white noise droning out the cacophony vanishes, and suddenly everything is loud in his ears, echoing in his head, and his skin feels so sensitive even his specially woven clothing suddenly feels like sandpaper against it, and he can count every sand corn under his feet, between his toes, driven by the wind to slam into his skin; the smells of the ocean and pollution and sand and people and animals and everything nearly overwhelming him completely.
His eyes only see the guy, though. Lean, but not fragile-looking; sleekly muscular body like an athlete, a swimmer, perhaps; black hair that the wind is tearing at and the bluest, deepest eyes Dean has ever seen. He's slightly stubbly, and his shorts and t-shirt look well-worn; comfortable, but giving him an altogether rugged appearance.
Dean doesn't think, just looks.
Looks and waits.
*
Castiel doesn't know what's going on. There's someone standing stock-still in the middle of the beach, staring at him; how he knows this when the guy is still rather far away he has no idea, but he can't think. He just knows that he has to keep walking, and the closer he gets the better.
The man is beautiful, it's all he can think about once he stands in front of him. Handsome is too weak a word; he's simply beautiful, but he looks like he's being held in a headlock, like something is trapping him. He seems to be not breathing, and while his face is smooth, only a little tight, otherwise expressionless, Castiel somehow gets the impression he's this close to panicking.
Without thinking, he reaches out and grips the man's shoulder, pulls him only a fraction towards himself before his actions catch up with him and he stumbles over nothing at the shock that courses through him.
It's like someone switched on the light somewhere, or switched it off; it's like going from watching in black-and-white to watching in perfect colours. There's no grey area, no stages-in-between; like there and then not-there, he's suddenly different. Everything is suddenly different.
*
I just imprinted, Dean thinks like from far away, and he has a feeling that he should... that something should be wrong about that, but it isn't, it can't, how could this ever be anything but right?
But that's very far away. It's quiet now, quiet around him, not in him, and not in the man in front of him – he can practically feel his warmth, feel his strength seeping in through the heavy hand on his shoulder, and he's still reeling from the jolt that ran through him at their first contact, that seemed to make his every cell take notice.
The man is breathing, and his heart is beating and his blood is rushing, his eyelashes are brushing his cheeks when he blinks, Dean can hear when he swallows and the tiny shifts in his balance, moving the sand and making the smallest noise in his knee joints, like a kind of creaking, and why can't he hear the wind, but the man's hair as it's being ruffled?
It's so quiet, but at the same time so loud, and he doesn't understand, doesn't understand at all, and-
And the man opens his mouth, takes a breath, licks his lips, and then he says- but Dean doesn't hear the words as anything that makes sense, his senses whirling at the sound of his voice, deep, rough; comforting and warm, a little raspy, like the bitter tea his mother used to make him when he was feeling sick. Dean has always liked it, because it plays at his taste buds, almost over-stimulating them, but in a way that makes him shiver with pleasure. Like this voice, like the whole man.
He understands now, a little.
"Castiel," the man says. "My name. I am Castiel."
*
The man doesn't react when he introduces himself a second time, but Castiel can see that he understood him this time. He can also see that the man – Sentinel, his Sentinel, and that is, oh – is aware of very little that is going on, and while Castiel has a hard time keeping himself collected and together (he can feel, he can see, and his whole world is arranging itself around him, within him while he is but a passenger), there's one thought in him loud enough to hold on to. Not here.
Now he understands why in training they had to repeat the basic steps of bonding until he felt like he could repeat them backwards in his sleep. He didn't pay enough attention before, completely missed the first two stages (recognise, seek refuge) and messed up with the third and fourth (adapt, imprint), so he needs to pay attention now. It's so very hard, though; his Sentinel's mind like a siren's call, beckoning, singing for him, and he wants to bury himself in him, surround him completely.
Not here.
"Hey," a woman's voice penetrates through the not-noise while Castiel desperately tries to stay collected enough to prevent them from commencing their bond right there on the beach, in full view of everybody. Even while he bristles at the interruption, he is thankful because it gives him the push he needed to be able to rein himself in enough for both of them.
She's a Sentinel, and she's bonded. If she weren't either, Castiel doesn't know if he would've been able to really deal with her interfering, and that thought scares him a little – or rather, it scares him that it doesn't scare him. But this, this is his right, his- his. This man, he belongs to Castiel, and anybody who'll try to interfere has brought it upon themselves.
"My name is Sophie," she says, then motions behind her, where a female Guide stands, far away enough not to breach, but close enough to her Sentinel. "This is my Guide Marie. We thought you might need a little... nudge."
Belatedly, Castiel realises he is supposed to react somehow, but the shock of her interruption is fading, and his Sentinel's mind is calling him. But it's a Siren's call right now, he knows; he has to prevent them from falling to pieces right then and there. It can only end in disaster. Taking a deep breath, he nods, but he can't form any words. He's lucky he understands her at all.
Sophie licks her lips and glances back at her Guide, then looks back at Castiel and says, "You need a room. We are not from here, but we have a rented car, and we could call the Organisation and drive you two wherever."
This time, Castiel forces himself to say something, and he has to clear his throat twice before he manages. "Thank you."
She nods and takes a few steps back, not turning away. "Follow me," she says.
*
Dean doesn't know what's going on, what's going on; something is not right. Every instinct in him screams at him to grab Castiel, to wrap himself around him wholly, to seep into his body, mould their selves together; both metaphorically and physically. He needs- he needs.
But there's someone else – not intruding directly, but it's like a mosquito at night, keeping you from sleep; it's not keeping him from Castiel, from his Guide, but it's keeping him right on the edge, just a breath away from tumbling over. He wants to fall, but he can't.
Castiel is talking to him again, but his senses are getting fuzzy, and he can't really understand the words; he understands what's underneath, though, tenderness and want and need, but all of it overlaid by worry. And then his Guide's hand falls away from his shoulder, and he feels suddenly cold, suddenly empty, even as Castiel grabs his hand. It's just... less, and he wants it back, and Castiel stands still when he takes a step towards him, almost completely mindless, driven entirely by instinct. But then Castiel tugs at his hand and moves away, and Dean follows and follows, but his Guide won't let him come any closer.
*
It's awful, the way it hurts; Castiel can feel the confusion in his Sentinel, how he doesn't understand, and he tries very hard to make sure his Sentinel won't misunderstand or misinterpret. He's not moving away from him; he's moving them both away from the public. This is a very delicate state they're in, both of them, and even as he's half-distractedly crowing and revelling, he curses himself for having been too distracted, too... hypnotised to realise what's going on until it's too late. Now it's his fault they're like this, depending on a friendly, but cautious (and rightly so) Sentinel-Guide pair to lead them both into privacy.
He tries to concentrate on his breathing and the warmth of his Sentinel's hand in his, and on following Sophie. But his mind is flickering, flickering off to the man who's following him, full of trust and confusion and pain and need, and really – Castiel never knew to expect this, and that's stupid because that's exactly what they've always been warned about at school.
His Sentinel stumbles, pulling at his arm and bumping his forehead into Castiel's shoulder, and Castiel grimaces at the onslaught of emotion that sweeps through him. He wants to touch so badly, wants to know more, wants to know everything, but he can't, not yet.
It's a relief when Sophie motions towards a car, her Guide already in the driver's seat. She's holding herself as tightly together as she can so as not to intrude too much on them, and for that Castiel is thankful as well.
He opens the backdoor and slides onto the backseat, not even needing to pull his Sentinel behind him because he follows so closely he literally crawls into Castiel's lap, and he's trembling as he curls around him and when Castiel can think a little more clearly again, he has his arms wrapped tightly around his Sentinel and the car is moving. Probably, he should ask where they are going, but he is too distracted to gather the energy or even the will to form a question. It's not really necessary, anyway; Sophie and Marie are trustworthy. Every Guide-Sentinel-pair is trustworthy, at least in matters as private and universal as these.
*
"I'm really starting to get worried," Jess says, a frown marring her features. "We haven't seen him for three hours!"
His mother is looking worried as well, but Sam and his father just share a look. "He'll come back on his own, he's a big boy," John says, and Sam nods.
But Jess is not giving up. "No, really. I don't think any of you see it because you grew up with him and are used to it, but to me, he looks really... lonely, sometimes."
Mary nods. "Because he doesn't have a Guide. I tried to make him search, but he insists he doesn't need a Guide, and he won't go to the mix-ups."
Sam sighs and leans back. It's an almost decade-old discussion; Dean insists he doesn't need anyone, especially not some stranger, and Mary tries to make him see reason. He used to think it was a mother imperative, but as Jess agrees and they start bonding over Dean being Guide-less and pretending it's alright, he realises it must be a girl imperative.
Truth is, while Sam isn't actually getting worried – Dean is a grown man and can take care of himself – he is a little concerned, because Dean is fine unless he zones out, and that... is a possibility. So Sam sighs and says, "I'm going to go look for him" and walks off into the direction his brother ventured into nearly three hours ago. True, Dean's ignoring them completely and just walking off had been weird, but he sometimes does weird things; Sam supposes it comes with the territory.
He doesn't know if he should expect to find Dean or not; he might, but he might not. Because unless Dean is zoned out somewhere on the beach, he has no way of knowing where he is and they'll simply have to wait until they get a call, either from Dean or from the Organisation, notifying them that Dean has been found by someone who called them. That happened a couple of times when they were children and Dean was on a school trip; the third time, the school had decided that Dean wasn't allowed to come to them anymore. Which was kind of unfair, Sam supposes; it wasn't Dean's fault his teachers didn't pay enough attention to him – on the other hand, he can understand; no matter who's at fault, the school sure won't risk something worse than Dean being found by a friendly stranger happening. It's just one of the many small ways Dean got and gets discriminated.
Unfortunately, Sam can't find his brother, and he can't really walk the whole beach. So on his way back to his family, he starts to ask random people if they have seen his brother; luckily, he has a picture of the two of them in his wallet. Nobody he asks has seen him, but after a while, people start giving him weird looks, and then one of them says "Why don't you ask that girl?" and points to a pretty red-head stopping random people and showing them a picture. So Sam walks up to her, and she smiles at him and says, "Hey, have you seen my brother? He looks like this," and shows him a picture of a tired, ruffled-looking guy in his twenties, smiling slightly at the camera.
It's a weird coincidence, and Sam shakes his head. "No, but have you seen mine?", he asks and and shows her a picture of Dean (and him), and she looks at the photo, then at him. For a moment, she looks confused; then she starts to scowl. "It's not funny, you asshole."
"No, no!" Sam raises both hands. "I wasn't making fun of you, I swear. But my brother walked off about three hours ago and I haven't seen him, so I'm looking for him."
Her scowl turns into a thoughtful frown. "Three hours ago, you say? Castiel has been gone for about three hours too."
Now it's getting really weird, and Sam can't help the thought that something must have happened. "Uhm, your brother isn't perchance a Sentinel as well, is he?" Maybe it's a Sentinel-thing. Maybe there was an accident.
Her eyes grow wide, and she stares at him for a moment before slowly shaking her head. "He's a Guide," she chokes, and Sam gets the implications immediately.
"Damn," he breathes, aware he's wearing the same wide-eyed expression as the girl.
Anna Novak, the girl introduces herself once they get over the shock a little. Her brother's name is Castiel, and he's twenty-four years old, just like Dean. Anna is eighteen.
After Sam has introduced himself and his brother as well, they fall silent again, until Sam can't bear it anymore and says, hesitatingly, "Do you think...?"
She pulls up her shoulders. "I don't know, but it seems too much of a coincidence, right?" She doesn't want to draw any hasty conclusions either, apparently, but she's right. It's too much of a coincidence.
They stand together for a moment, awkwardly not looking at each other, until Sam takes a breath and Anna says quickly, "Should we tell our families?"
"That's the question," Sam replies. On the one hand, they should know. On the other, what if they're wrong? But what if they're right? What if Dean and this Castiel person really did bond?
That's when his mobile rings, and his mom tells him, shock still in her voice, that the Organisation called and that Dean apparently is currently bonding with his Guide. Sam only pulls up his shoulders and says, looking at Anna who is looking back, still a little wide-eyed, "I know."
In the end, Anna and Sam exchange their respective mobile numbers and agree to go talk to their families. They both still are a little dazed; it's hard to grasp, to acknowledge that they're now practically in-laws, that their families are going to be bound together forever through their brothers. Theoretically, they should have been prepared for this – prepared for the knowledge that, as soon as their respective brothers bonded, they'd have to get to know a whole family of strangers because they'd be together for life, but the reality of that is a lot different than the vague knowledge that one day that will happen. Of course they have to meet, of course they want to meet, but it's a little too much at once for them to be able to make any promises right now.
So, Sam goes back to his parents and girlfriend, and Anna wanders off into the opposite direction for her relatives.
*
Dean is so warm.
He has wrapped himself completely in another's heartbeat, and it's so warm.
*
"What happened?", his mom asks the moment Sam is near enough to hear her. His father and Jess are looking at him as well, curious, but all three of them still look a little pale from the shock – Sam is sure he looks the same. This really isn't something any of them had expected, which is weird, because of course they had known that one day Dean would bond – but now that that time is here, they aren't prepared at all.
"Well, I met this girl, Anna," he says and tells the whole story while they make their way back to their hotel.
"That's one hell of a coincidence, son," John says, and Sam can only shrug. It is, sure, but such things happen in real life. There is no way anyone could have known in advance that Dean and this Castiel person were going to bond; there was just no way to tell which Guide and Sentinel would connect. If there was, life would be much easier for pretty much everyone involved.
"Well, that's not important now anyway," Mary chimes in. "The only thing that matters is that Dean found his Guide. I'm sure we will meet him soon, and his family as well; it's only a matter of time."
Jess looks thoughtful and a little puzzled, and Sam remembers that this is still pretty new to her. She had read a couple of pamphlets and books when he had told her his brother was a Sentinel, but she hadn't grown up with the knowledge like Sam pretty much had. "It'll take a couple of days, right?"
"Around three, normally," John explains, "but it could easily be five as well. It really depends, though nobody knows what it actually depends on. It's all mostly guesswork and hearsay and experience and very little science."
"The Organisation is very careful about which scientists they allow to work with Guides and Sentinels, too," Mary adds. "And it's for the better, really; I don't want to imagine what the government would do with the children if they had free reign."
No, Sam doesn't want to imagine that either. The Organisation is pretty elitist and secretive, but its mere existence has protected Dean all his life, and for that they're all thankful.
"Well," he says when they arrive at their hotel. "I guess we should eat something?"
They go eat an early dinner.
*
"I have five brothers and two sisters," Castiel says. His voice is a little hoarse, but still rough and deep, and it seems to vibrate through Dean's being.
"That's a lot," he replies and turns his head, rests his chin on Castiel's chest so he can look at him properly. He tries to imagine Castiel, his Castiel, growing up among so many others, but he can't. He can't imagine any situation in which Castiel wouldn't stand out, be special.
"Our mother died when she gave birth to my youngest sister, Lilith. She's seven now," Castiel starts, gaze lost somewhere on the ceiling. "Our father didn't take it very well. I don't really remember, it was a... tumultuous time. My brother, my twin brother, James, had just found his Sentinel, Amelia, and moved in with her family so he could be with her. It was... difficult."
Dean can only imagine. For him as a Sentinel family is important, but a Guide has those same instincts magnified a thousandfold; loosing any member of the family must have hurt like an open wound. To lose two, one of them his twin, even if said twin at least wasn't dead, must have been damn near traumatising.
"Do you have others in the family?" It's rare already that he had another Guide as a sibling, but it makes sense if they're twins.
"No." Castiel takes a breath and continues. "I have one older brother, Gabriel; all the others are younger than me. Gabriel was nineteen when our mother died, James and I were seventeen. Jimmy wanted to come back, but I told him no. Amelia's parents wouldn't allow her to leave, and the few days they were separated, Jimmy bled pain and loss all over the house, and I couldn't have dealt with that on top of everything else. Our father... left. I don't really know how or why, Gabriel won't tell me; he was just gone, one morning, the day after her funeral. He sends money, but I haven't seen him since the week our mother died."
Dean can fill in the blanks. "So you had to raise your siblings on your own."
Castiel nods. "Gabriel was studying psychology at the time, but he took one semester off and came back. He wanted to stay, but I wouldn't let him. I couldn't just let him stay and ruin his life for us. He had a girlfriend, friends – he would have been miserable, and it wasn't like he could have done anything I couldn't just as well do."
"So you raised one baby and four other children younger than you."
"Yes. Anna, she was eleven at the time, she has helped whenever I let her, and Jimmy came back with Amelia for a year after they had finished school." But in the end, it had pretty much been Castiel on his own, in more ways than one, Dean hears.
It makes Dean angry; angry at James and Gabriel whom he doesn't even know, and especially at Castiel's father for abandoning his children like that. He pushes himself up until he can rest his head on the pillow next to his mate's and says, quietly, "You have me now." Castiel wouldn't ever be alone again, he will make sure of it.
Castiel turns his head, meets his eyes and nods. "So I do."