Archive of Our Own

Cas’ phone vibrates in his jacket pocket. Nobody really calls him these days besides Dean, sometimes Sam, so he picks up without checking the name flashing across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cas,” says the voice on the other end. Sam. He sounds strained, Cas notes.

“Sam, are you alright?”

“Me, yeah. I’m fine, it’s Dean.”

Cas feels his heart drop into his stomach. Angels don’t eat, so as a result, they also don't puke. This doesn’t stop Cas from feeling like he’s about to.

When he miraculously finds his voice, “Is he okay?” comes out. He hears his voice crack as he words leave his lips.

“For now, we think. I don’t really know how long he has, Cas. I called Rowena before I called you, and she’ll be here soon. I don’t know what this is, man, but I think maybe you should get here. I think you should hurry,” Sam says.

“Where are you? And tell me what happened,” Cas demands, pulling off onto the shoulder of the road. There’s a good chance he’ll need to turn around.

“Sorry, yeah. Eureka Springs, Arkansas. How long until you can get here?”

Cas rubs his hand over his face. He’s passing through Harrison, Arkansas right now. If his father were listening, he would thank him. He’s only about an hour away. If he speeds, he can make it in forty minutes. “Give me forty five minutes,” he says, just in case.

Sam clears his throat on the other end. “He’s not hurt or anything, at least not physically.”

Cas feels a wave of relief wash over him, but it only lasts for a moment. He pulls back out onto the road, he doesn’t need to turn around after all. “Sam, would you please stop—what’s the expression?—’beating around the bush,’ and get to the point?” he asks, his fuse getting shorter by the moment.

“Right, sorry! Sorry. He was hit with a spell. Memory loss. Fucking witches,” Sam mutters the last sentence under his breath, and his heart skips a beat when he hears Dean’s voice—quieter than Sam’s—”Witches are real?”

“A memory loss spell can kill him?” Cas asks, and he pushes a little—okay, a lot—harder on the gas pedal.

“According to Rowena, this one can,” Sam sighs.

Rowena, of course. He should have been able to figure out that it was witches when Sam mentioned her the first time. His head had been a little too cloudy with thoughts of Dean being mortally wounded to draw that conclusion himself in the moment.

“Okay,” Cas sighs, “I’ll be there soon. Please keep him alive for the next—” he glances at the time, “—forty minutes, now.”

“I’ll do what I can. Hurry,” Sam says, and then the line goes dead.

Cas feels like yelling, maybe screaming. He wants to throw his phone clear through the windshield, but none of those things will help him get to Dean faster, so he doesn’t. He just presses harder on the gas, and weaves in and out of traffic. He ignores the blaring of horns from angry drivers, because they don’t matter. He has to get to Dean.

In the end, it only takes Cas thirty five minutes to drive what probably should have taken him a full hour. He parks outside the motel and rushes up the stairs to the room number Sam had texted him while he had been driving. He pounds on the door, desperate to see Dean alive and breathing. He nearly breaks it down when it doesn’t immediately swing open.

After a few moments, Sam does answer the door. Cas shoves past him, nearly knocking him into the wall in the process. Sam steps out of the way at just the right moment, or there’s a good possibility that he would have made a good dent in the drywall of the motel room with his body.

It takes Cas five long strides to reach Dean, where he stands in front of him. Dean is sitting on the bed watching TV, and he looks like he’s about to complain that Cas is in his way before their eyes meet. He softens instantly, and even more so when Cas takes his face into his hands, searching his eyes and giving him an internal and external once-over at the same time. Sam had been right, there’s nothing physically wrong with him.

It’s good news, and it’s bad news. Good news because Dean isn’t in immediate danger of dying, but bad news because that means there’s nothing Cas can do to heal him.

“Woah,” Dean finally speaks, and his eyes are wide. His pupils dilate a touch, if Cas isn’t mistaken. “Who are you?”

Cas shakes it off, swallows a lump in his throat, and keeps his eyes trained on Dean’s. “Castiel. My name is Castiel.”

“That’s a funny name,” Dean says with a snort. “How ‘bout I just call you Cas?”

Cas stammers for a moment, bewildered. “Yes, that’s fine, Dean,” he manages eventually.

Sam, seemingly recovered from nearly being shoved through a wall, comes to sit on the bed beside Dean. “You remember how I was telling you about our best friend?” he asks, shooting daggers at Cas with his gaze when Dean turns to look at him. Cas throws him an apologetic smile and then turns it into a softer one when he turns to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Oh, uh… the angel, right? Cas, you’re an angel?” Dean asks, and Cas drops to sit next to him on the bed, marginally closer to him than Sam is.

“Yes, Dean. I’m an angel.”

Dean grins wildly, gums and all. “I can see it. You have really pretty eyes,” he says, and the smile on his face turns into the softest and kindest one that Cas has ever seen from him.

The instant the words have left Dean’s mouth, Cas’ eyes glow bright, icy blue for a moment. The bulb in the lamp next to them bursts, as does the one across the room. No other lights in the room were on, but Cas can’t be sure he didn’t just blow out all the lights in the entire motel. Maybe the whole block.

He turns his gaze to Sam, who has begun laughing uncontrollably. Cas wishes now that he still had his wings so he could disappear from this situation entirely.

Sam, however, is relentless. “Dude, you—” he cuts himself off with his own laughter, doubling over. “—the lamps! You exploded the lamps!”

Cas grumbles and focuses his attention back to Dean, who hasn’t stopped looking at him the entire time. He feels his face heat up, which is weird, because angels shouldn’t be able to blush. Cas supposes he’s just angel enough to explode lightbulbs unexpectedly, and just human enough to blush, now. Apparently.

“You give all the guys light shows, or am I just special?” Dean asks, and oh God, Cas cannot do this.

It must be his lucky day, because there’s a soft knock at the door in that exact moment. He breathes out a sigh of relief and watches Sam get the door, and then watches Rowena walk through it.

“Oy!” Rowena says, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees Cas. “What do you need me for if you’ve got your pretty-boy angel here, Samuel?” she asks.

Cas rolls his eyes, “There’s nothing I can do for him. We need the help of a witch,” he says, regretfully.

Rowena’s eyebrows raise, “Well, I’ll just be going, then! I’m sure you could get any old witch to do a simple reversal spell, right? I’ll be on my way,” she says, starting to saunter off. She turns back to them just as she reaches for the doorknob, “Unless, of course, it’s me that you need.”

Sam sighs and wraps his fingers around Rowena’s wrist. “We need you, Rowena. Please,” he says, and Sam can see his grip tighten from across the room.

Rowena sighs. “Very well then, Samuel. But I’d like to hear blue-eyes say it,” she smirks, quirking one eyebrow up at Cas.

Reluctantly, Cas says, “We need you, Rowena. Dean needs you.”

“Very good,” Rowena smiles. “Now, run along. Keep little Dory entertained,” she says, and makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Sam and I need the room.”

Cas stands up and hauls Dean up with him, fishing the keys to his truck out of his pocket with his free hand. He walks past Sam and Rowena with one hand curled around Dean’s bicep.

Cas makes sure Dean is safely seated in the truck next to him, and he even turns the key in the ignition so that the heat will come on for Dean. “Are we goin’ somewhere?” Dean asks.

Cas shakes his head. He’s in for an interesting few hours alone with Dean, if his flirtations in the motel room are any clue. “No, your brother just asked me to keep an eye on you while he sorts out a solution to your… prob...lem—why are you looking at me like that?” Cas asks, because Dean’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head.

“I have a brother?” Dean asks incredulously. “What’s he like?”

Cas settles in. He doesn’t technically get uncomfortable, but it always seems to put Dean at ease whenever he makes attempts to act more human. At this point, not all of it is acting. Cas believes himself to be more human than some actual humans, sometimes. Regardless, he has to keep Dean entertained somehow. Might as well tell him a story.

“He loves you very much, Dean. You’re about all he has these days, aside from me. You two have been through so much, even before I was around. His courage and selflessness astound me every day. So does yours,” Cas smiles, and there’s a hint of sadness to it. He wonders if Dean will remember enough to recognize it.

“He sounds like a great guy,” Dean says, and he deflates a little. Cas feels a pang in his chest, a physical manifestation of his feelings. That’s something new, something that only started recently. Dean speaks again, “I wish i could remember, Ca—” he cuts himself off, and Cas can see him swallow. “Hm. C-aaas?” he says, pitching his voice upwards at the end, like he’s not quite sure if he got it right.

Cas nods, “Yes, Cas. I’m Cas. You’re Dean, and Sam is your brother,” he confirms, angling his body to better face Dean. He’s got one leg curled up so that his ankle is on the bench seat of the truck, and his back is leaned up against the driver’s side door.

“So I’m Dean, Sam is my brother, and you’re my…” Dean trails off this time, unsure. “You’re my—Cas. You’re my Cas,” he settles, smiling like he’s proud of himself.

Cas’ heart seizes in his chest, and he lays one hand over it and exhales slowly. He almost feels like he could cry, but he doesn’t need that right now and neither does Dean. This is about keeping Dean calm and occupied, so Cas can do that for now. “Yeah, sure. I’m your Cas,” he says, and his voice gets caught in his throat.

“How did we meet?” Dean asks him, completely oblivious to the fact that it’s a very long, sad story.

Cas figures he ought to indulge him anyway. He’s never told this story to Dean, not from his own perspective and certainly not in any sort of detail. “I pulled you out of Hell,” Cas says simply, knowing that Dean will have many, many follow-up questions.

Sure enough, his eyes go wide. “I’ve been to Hell?” he asks, sinking back into the seat. “Why? How did you pull me out?”

Cas huffs out a laugh despite himself, he can’t help it. “I’m an angel, remember?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. He knows Dean doesn’t remember. He continues, “You went to hell because you made a deal with a demon to save your brother’s life. You spent forty years there before I was able to reach you. But once I did, there was no mistaking which soul was yours, Dean. It shone the brightest of all of them,” Cas smiles. He knows he’s getting a little carried away, but he can’t help it. And he has to keep Dean’s attention somehow.

“You’re a real charmer, ain’t ya?” Dean asks, and he winks. Cas feels his cheeks heat up again, but that only seems to spur Dean on. “My own personal knight in shining armor,” he says, and he shuffles the tiniest bit closer to Cas. “What happened next?” he asks, and his voice is just a touch softer than it had been previously.

Cas smiles at him, and he continues the story. It’s a long one, so he talks for a while. He tells Dean about the war against Heaven, Sam losing his soul, the Leviathan, Purgatory, Sam undergoing the Trials to close the gates of Hell. He mentions Kevin, Charlie, Bobby, and many more that they’ve lost over the years. He tells Dean about Metatron and his own (literal) fall from Grace, he talks about the Mark of Cain. He tells him about the Darkness, the British Men of Letters, and everything in between. He talks about anything he can think to talk about, and he starts to see it slip out of Dean’s head right before his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Dean says, brows furrowed. “When did we get together?” he asks.

Cas chokes on nothing, sending himself into a coughing fit. He shouldn’t even be able to choke, but here he is. “Dean, we—” he pauses, takes a deep breath, and tries to center himself. “We aren’t,” he finally says, and his heart shatters at the look on Dean’s face.

Dean looks as if Cas has just pulled his still-beating heart right out of his chest, thrown it on the ground, and stomped on it. He’s actually not sure if he’s ever seen Dean look this gutted, and he knows of moments where Dean has been much more upset than he must be now. Except, Dean can’t remember those moments. He can’t remember that he usually takes the route of bottling up everything he feels in order to deal with it on his own time. He doesn’t remember that it’s not in his nature to be this open about the way he feels.

“So you don’t love me back?” Dean asks. Cas is at a loss for words. This is never how this was supposed to go. His heart jumps into his throat when Dean starts to tear up, but he keeps his eyes on him anyways. “Listen,” Dean starts, “I may not be able to remember your name right now, or even my own, but after all of that…” Dean trails off. He turns to look out the window, and Cas can’t help but stare.

The sun is setting in the distance, and the Arkansas sunset paints a lovely picture. Dean sitting in Cas’ truck, staring out into the vast sky, swirling with pinks and purples and bright oranges. Dean’s head is blocking Cas’ direct view of the sun, so it shines around the sides of his head, creating almost a halo. Cas barely has time to think of the irony before Dean starts to talk again.

“After all of that,” he repeats, and Cas is surprised he’s even retained their previous conversion, “I have to be in love with you. After all you’ve done for me? How could I not be? Who wouldn’t be?” he asks, and then he finally turns back to look at Cas.

Cas just looks at him for a moment. Looks at the way the sunset colors his face, how the bright greens in his irises stand out against the colors in the background. He opens his mouth to speak, even though he has no idea what’s going to come out, but Dean beats him to it. “You just told me about the last decade of my life, in pretty vivid detail. The only thing that’s sticking is that you literally pulled me out of Hell. The rest of it… I can feel it slipping. Apparently, I’ve stopped the apocalypse—more than once! But this is how I die? And I can’t even die remembering when I fell in love with you? Or if you love me back?”

Cas hears him sniffle, and his heart crumbles to pieces. He doesn’t know how to get around this. When Sam and Rowena reverse the spell, Cas has no idea if Dean will remember any of this. He might. He might remember every second of it, he’ll be embarrassed, and he’ll remember all of the reasons he truly doesn’t love Cas. And there are a lot of reasons. Good ones.

Still, Cas can’t help himself. “I do,” he says quietly, reaching across the space between them. He takes Dean’s hand in his own, squeezes it just once. “Don’t worry about that. I do. I’ll remind you as often as you need,” Cas says, and he finds that he means it. It’s out there. He can’t take it back. He’s pretty sure that he doesn’t even want to, not with the look that Dean is giving him right now.

Dean dips his head and looks at Cas through his eyelashes, “That’s good to hear,” he says, and Cas squeezes his hand again.

He doesn’t let go. Neither of them do. In fact, Dean scoots closer to Cas and their thighs are pressed together. Cas looks down at where their bodies are touching, and it’s a good thing that he doesn’t need to breathe to survive, or he’d be slumped over in the driver’s seat of his pickup right now.

The next few minutes pass them by in silence, and Dean seems content enough to just hold Cas’ hand. After a few moments, he lets his head drop to Cas’ shoulder and they stare forward out the windshield and look at the skyline in front of them. Cas rubs his thumb over Dean’s knuckles, and reaches his free hand over to lay it on top of their intertwined hands. Dean does the same with his free hand, and Cas turns his head to drop a feather-light kiss to the top of his head.

Eventually, the silence is broken by Sam tapping on the driver’s side window. It makes Dean jump, and Cas soothes him by holding tighter to his hand and shushing him gently. He takes his hand from atop Dean’s where it lays in his lap and cranks the window down so that he can hear Sam.

Sam crosses his arms above his head, letting them rest on the truck. He dangles the room key from one hand as he speaks, “You guys can head back up, if you want. Rowena and I need to get the Grimoire from the witches who did this,” he says.

Cas’ eyes widen, “Witches? Like, plural?”

Sam nods solemnly. “Yeah, unfortunately. Rowena knows them. But I’ll call if I need you,” he promises, handing the room key to Cas.

Dean follows Cas out of the truck when he shuts it off and climbs out, not bothering with the passenger side door. Cas keeps their hands intertwined as he watches Sam and Rowena climb into the Impala and drive off, and he leads Dean back to the motel room.

Cas feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he knows it’s because Dean is staring straight through him. He swings the motel room door open and locks it behind him, sliding into a chair at the table with an exasperated sigh laced with bone-deep exhaustion. Angels don’t get tired, but Cas is pretty sure he could lay down on one of those beds and take a nap if he didn’t have to watch Dean.

“Will you—” Dean pauses, lowering himself onto one of the beds. He pats the spot next to him and leans against the headboard, “—come tell me about rescuing me from Hell again?” he finishes, looking up to meet Cas’ eyes.

“You still remember that?” Cas asks, and he stands up from the table to walk over to the bed to join Dean. He toes off his shoes and sits down next to him, leaving about six inches of space between them.

Dean nods. “It’s the only thing I can make myself hold on to. I can’t even remember your name,” he admits shamefully, and then, “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head, he hates that even without the knowledge of everything he’s done, Dean’s default emotion is guilt. “It’s not your fault. You’re Dean Winchester,” he says his name with conviction, resting a hand over one of Dean’s own. “I’m Casti—Cas. I’m Cas, and your brother’s name is Sam, and he’s out trying to get your memories back,” Cas reminds him gently, giving his hand another squeeze. “Of course I’ll tell you the story.

“I was ordered to rescue you from Hell the moment the Hounds dragged you away. My Garrison and I, we flew through Hell for forty years just to get to you. Many of my Brothers and Sisters died trying to get to you before you broke the first Seal. Of course, none of us made it. But that isn’t your fault, Dean. We underestimated how long it would take to get to you. That’s on us.

“I was ordered to lead, although I’m not sure why. My Brothers and Sisters surrounded me as we laid siege, protecting me as best as they could. We searched Hell for all forty of those years, three months on Earth.”

“How was it forty years in Hell but only three months on Earth?” Dean asks, his eyes wide. Cas can tell that Dean is hanging on his every word, trying so hard to retain everything that Cas is telling him.

“Time works differently in Hell. It works differently in Heaven, too. Angels perceive it all at once. It’s… difficult to quantify how long it felt like we were fighting in Hell, It felt like forty years, it felt like three months, and it felt like two hours. All at once.” Cas takes a break to reposition himself, crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his hands in his lap.

Dean takes the opportunity to shuffle closer to Cas, pressing their bodies together from their shoulders down to their feet. He turns onto his side when Cas lifts an arm to wrap around him, and then he lays his head on Cas’ chest. He throws one leg over Cas’ thighs, wrapping his own arm around Cas’ midsection.

Cas rubs up and down on Dean’s back and tries to settle his own heart rate. He takes a few deep breaths. He never thought he’d be allowed the privilege of holding Dean like this again, after Hell.

Dean lifts his head to look at Cas, “What happened when you found me?”

Cas tightens his grip and takes a deep breath. “Oh, Dean,” he sighs, a reminiscent smile on his face. “The second I laid eyes on your soul, I knew it was you, My Brothers and Sisters wanted to scope you out, wanted to make sure we were truly looking at the soul of the Righteous Man. I told then it was unnecessary. Your soul is so bright. Even when I found you torturing that soul on the Rack, even as I pried it from your clutches, I knew with everything inside of me that you were good.

“I wrapped you in my arms,” he tightens his grip another fraction, “and I shielded you from Hellfire with my wings, You writhed in my arms, trying to get away, You kept telling me you didn’t deserve it, that I should just drop you right back where I found you. Instead, I flew you straight up to Heaven and I began to rebuild you. Piece by piece, I stitched your soul together again. Your body too, Dean.” He drops a kiss to Dean’s forehead, “Body and soul, you are beautiful.”

He hears more than sees Dean swallow, and his chest tightens when Dean’s hand comes up from his waist to rest directly over his heart. “Keep going,” he asks, his voice hoarse. Cas can’t see him, but he thinks he feels wetness on his shirt.

Cas nods once and clears his own throat, afraid of the way his voice will sound when he speaks again. “I held you. Once your soul was back within your body, I held you. I had just obtained this vessel, and I held you in its arms. In my arms. I would never admit it to my superiors, I would never tell them that I cradled you for no other reason than your comfort. But I did, Dean. And without meaning to, I branded you. Right here,” Cas’ voice is quiet now, almost a whisper as he moves his hand from the small of Dean’s back up to his shoulder, where he fits his hand over the place he once left a mark on Dean’s body. All that’s left of it now is the mark that’s left on his soul because of it. The physical reminder faded, but the Grace that Castiel stitched into the body of Dean Winchester would remain forever.

Dean gasps, like maybe he can feel something just beneath the surface of his skin. Cas imagines it’s possible, if Dean’s soul is reaching out for the residual Grace that Cas had left all those years ago. He supposes Dean would probably be able to feel some sort of physical sensation. He isn’t exactly sure what that would feel like, but it isn’t impossible. Castiel would never admit it out loud, but the thought of being able to make Dean experience feelings and physical sensations that no one else can makes him feel—well, awesome.

Dean reaches up to lay his own hand over Cas’ where it remains on his shoulder, “Cas?” he asks softly, like he’s not sure if he’s got that quite right. Like maybe he didn’t guess correctly.

Cas smiles sincerely down at him and nods, “Yes, Dean?”

“If I don’t tell you I love you when all of this is over, you need to slap me. Seriously.”

Cas huffs out a laugh and drops his forehead to lean against the top of Dean’s head. He buries his nose in the short, soft hairs there, and he hums. “We aren’t even sure if you’ll remember all of this. It’s possible — probable, even — that you’ll forget everything from the moment you were cursed once it’s lifted.”

Dean feels Cas deflate in his arms and sink deeper into the touch. It crushes Cas, and he can’t help dropping a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. He’s not sure how exactly to handle this. Dean doesn’t usually let his emotions show, at least not the negative ones. Anger, maybe, but never sadness. “I want to remember, Cas.”

Cas sighs, “Dean, I’m not sure that you do. But if you forget everything I’ve said today, I’ll tell you again someday. I promise,” he says, and he gives Dean’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. This is agonizing. Cas isn’t entirely certain he hasn’t died and been sent straight to his own personal Hell. Maybe a nightmare Djinn has him trapped.

He’s shaken out of his own thoughts when Dean sits up out of Cas’ arms and heads for the motel room door. “Where are you going?” he asks, standing up to follow him. Maybe he just needs some fresh air.

“Bathroom, dude. I don’t think I need you for that, I still remember how to piss,” he jokes, but Cas can’t laugh. He can’t bring himself to. Not when Dean has already forgotten which door they came in through and which door belongs to the bathroom.

“Other door, Dean,” Cas supplies, pointing across the room.

“Right,” Dean clears his throat, embarrassed. “Of course, thanks.”

Cas just offers him a nod and watches him walk to the bathroom and close the door. He hears the lock click and he swallows.

Cas hates this. He hates it. He’s seen Dean nearly die. He’s watched Dean torture a soul on the Rack in Hell. He’s watched the Mark of Cain consume him, he’s seen Dean as a demon. He’s held Dean close to his chest and heard him let out the most blood-curdling demonic roar he’s ever heard from a living creature. None of it had been anywhere near as painful as this is.

Dean’s losing himself, losing everything it means to be Dean Winchester and Cas is watching it happen. He’s watching Dean slip away before his very eyes.

Cas heads for the table and grabs Sam’s (very helpful) stack of sticky notes. He figures while Dean relieves himself, he can make sure this particular mishap doesn’t happen again. He writes “EXIT” in large, bold letters on one. He sticks it on the motel room door. On another post-it, he writes “BATHROOM” and pulls it from the stack. He walks over to the bathroom door to stick it on, and he can hear Dean on the other side of the door.

It’s muffled, but he can make out what Dean is saying. “My name is Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother. My best friend is Cast— Cas. My best friend is Cas.”

Cas is gentle as he places the sticky note on the bathroom door, and he has every intention of walking away, until he hears Dean start talking again.

“My name is… My name… is Dean Wi— Dean. My name is Dean. Sam is my brother. Cas is my… Cas. Cas saved me from hell.

“My name… My…” Dean trails off this time, and Cas is pretty sure he hears a sniffle through the door, “I don’t know,” he hears. And then again, “I don’t know.”

Cas knocks lightly in an attempt to not startle Dean. It clearly doesn’t work, because he hears Dean knock something over on the counter. “Who… Who’s there?” he asks.

“It’s Cas. Can you let me in, Dean?” Cas asks, hopeful that Dean will open the door and allow him access instead of being afraid. Thankfully, the lock clicks and the door unlatches, and it cracks open just an inch. He pushes it open just far enough to slip inside, and then he closes it again. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Who are you?” he asks. Sam and Rowena need to hurry. He reminded Dean of his name only moments ago.

“Castiel. I’m Cas, you’re Dean, and Sam is your brother,” Cas reminds him gently. Castiel has been called many things in his millennia in Heaven and in his years on Earth. Impatient is not one of them. If he had to, he would remind Dean of his own name forever.

“Right. Of course, Cas. I’m so sorry, man. I’m so sorry,” Dean says, and his voice cracks. His eyes are red and brimming with tears, and Cas lays a tentative hand on his knee.

“That’s alright, Dean. It’s not your fault,” he says, and then his phone vibrates in his pocket. It makes Dean jump, so Cas gives his knee a reassuring squeeze. It seems to settle Dean, if only a little. Cas takes comfort in knowing that something within Dean recognizes him as a friend, and not a threat.

Cas picks up his phone, hits the green button, and puts it to his ear. “Sam? Sam! Are you okay?”

Sam grunts on the other end of the line and huffs. Cas hears what he thinks is Sam dusting himself off, but he can’t be sure. “A little banged up, but fine. We found the book. We… God, Cas. We killed all of them,” Sam says. “We’re about to head back, how’s Dean?”

“Dean’s okay, Sam, but you should hurry. Speed. Step on it, as your brother would say.”

“Got it,” Sam says, and then the line goes dead.

Dean looks up at him expectantly, and Cas wants to stay in this moment for the rest of his life. He’s never seen Dean this vulnerable. He looks almost child-like in his innocence. He knows the circumstances aren’t ideal, but the look on Dean’s face… he’s never seen Dean trust him this openly before. His eyes are just a little bit wide, and the green stands out against the whites of his eyes, which are tinted pink from the irritation of his tears. Cas can just see his soul shining through them, he can see it in all its radiance.

Freckles spatter his face. Cas knows exactly how many of them there are. He had counted when he rebuilt Dean’s body. He knows Dean inside and out. Somehow, he still wasn’t aware that Dean was capable of looking like this. He supposes that, under normal circumstances, he isn’t. Still. He looks so beautiful like this, so unashamed.

“That was your brother, he’s on his way back here to get your memories back,” Cas says, helping Dean up to lead him back to the main room. They sit back down on the bed, and it’s automatic to gather Dean in his arms again. Dean lets him.

It’s going to take Sam and Rowena at least twenty minutes to get back to them. Cas just has to keep Dean safe and alive for the next twenty minutes and everything will be fine again. He’s done harder things. He can do this.

Dean does seem to be getting restless, almost like he’s forgetting how to keep his composure. It’s like he knows he’s supposed to be stressed, but he can’t remember what for. Cas thinks that if he didn’t know who he was or what was happening to him, he’d probably be restless too. Especially if there was a man holding him that he didn’t know or couldn’t remember.

Cas leans to sit up, hopefully making Dean less uncomfortable, but Dean clings to him. His arms wrap around Cas’ middle lighting-fast, and Cas goes back to cradling him there. “Okay, okay. I’ve got you, Dean. I won’t go anywhere,” Cas says.

Dean doesn't respond.

Cas clears his throat, “Would you like another story?” he asks.

Dean looks up at him like he isn’t quite sure who he is, but Cas sees no fear. “Sure,” Dean offers, shifting slightly in Cas’ arms. He’s rubbing his legs together and he can’t quite sit still, but Cas just rubs a soothing hand down his back and begins.

“This story is about an angel that fell for a human man,” he says. He doesn’t get far before Dean interrupts.

“That sounds sad. Is this a sad story?”

“Sometimes,” Cas answers honestly, “But not always.” He smiles.

“Does it have a happy ending?”

His smile falters, “I’m not sure, Dean. I haven’t gotten that far yet,” Cas answers, and then clears his throat. “The angel saved the human’s life. And the human, he was wary at first. He didn’t trust the angel.”

“Who wouldn’t trust an angel?” Dean interrupts again, and Cas lets out a soft laugh.

“Well, perhaps he was justified in his distrust. Not in this particular angel, but in angels in general. Regardless, upon their first official meeting, the human stabbed the angel in the heart with a knife meant for demons. Of course, the angel wasn’t harmed in any real way, aside from maybe his pride.

“The angel was confused by the human. He didn’t understand him, didn’t know how to communicate with him. They got there, eventually, and the angel wound up giving up his home and the only family he’d ever known, just for this one human. The human taught him kindness, selflessness. The human taught him how to love.

“And love, the angel did. The angel loved the human so much that he followed him, quite literally, to the end of the world. More than once. He died for the human countless times, but the angel’s father kept bringing him back. There was always unfinished business, and the human still needed him.

“So again and again, time after time, the angel was resurrected so that he could fight by the human’s side. And he did. Sometimes he strayed, sometimes he got lost. He didn’t always know which direction to go, and sometimes he would choose the wrong path. But in the end, the angel and the human always found their way back to one another. The human always forgave him, and the angel was more thankful for this than anything else in his entire life.”

“What were their names?” Dean asks him.

Cas doesn’t see a reason to lie. It’s not like Dean remembers his own name at the moment, let alone Cas’. So he answers, “The angel's name was Castiel. The human was called Dean.

“Castiel never quite knew what to make of Dean. He still doesn’t, sometimes. Most of the time. But he knows, at least, that Dean thinks of him as a friend. A best friend, even. And if that is all Castiel could ever have from Dean, he was content with that. He was glad to have Dean’s trust. He was grateful that Dean placed his faith in him over and over, even when he did not deserve it.

“Castiel wasn’t sure when he fell in love with Dean. It happened gradually, slowly. He didn’t fall in love, per se, it was more like he drifted gently into it. One day, he took a look around, and realized that Dean was his home. He realized he never wanted to be anywhere without him. By this point, of course, Dean had forced him into watching many movies. He knew what romantic love was, what it looked like, and now he knew how it felt. He knew what it meant to look at someone and want them, all of them, flaws and all.

“And Dean, well… Dean had a lot of flaws. And despite them all, Castiel’s love was unwavering. Never once did his love for Dean flicker or dim.” Cas swallows, his voice is starting to waver.

“Does Dean love Castiel back?” Dean says softly, looking up at Cas. He’s clearly invested in the story, even as the beginnings of it start to slip from his mind.

“Unclear. Castiel isn’t sure, he’s never been able to tell. He knows that Dean loves him like family, at the very least. He knows that Dean would die for him, that Dean would do nearly anything for him. And that only makes him love Dean even more. But he doesn’t know. He’s never known how Dean feels about him,” Cas answers, giving Dean a squeeze.

“Well, if I were Dean, I would love Castiel back,” Dean states matter-of-factly.

Cas lets out a laugh that sounds closer to a sob. This, by far, is one of the most absurd and painful situations he’s ever found himself in. Sitting in the presence of the human he gave everything for, telling him the story of how they met, of how Castiel himself fell in love.

“Well, Castiel has made some very questionable choices. He’s made a lot of mistakes and caused a lot of damage. He always tried to do the right thing, but sometimes it was hard for him to understand what that was. Dean had been the one to teach him the meaning of free will, so he’d been trying to work out what that meant for himself. A lot of the time, he didn’t know what direction to go. And sometimes, even when Dean told him the right way, he still chose the wrong option. He thought he was wiser, thought maybe he knew better than Dean. He knows now, that’s not true.

“Dean is one of the wisest, most selfless people that Castiel has ever known. And Castiel has been alive a very long time.”

Dean sits with that for a while, and then he sighs. “Well, is Dean perfect or something? Has he never made any mistakes?”

Cas smiles sadly down at him. “He has. Of course he has, he’s only human. Even angels make mistakes, so Castiel would never expect Dean to be perfect. Despite his many flaws and mistakes, Castiel loves him anyways," Cas says, almost like a reassurance. He knows that’s not what it is, because Dean doesn’t know that they’re the two people in this story.

“I bet Dean loves Castiel back,” Dean says, lifting his head to look at Cas. “If he doesn’t, he really should.”

There’s a knock at the door.

It makes Cas jump, which makes Dean jump, but Cas soothes a hand down his back again and he settles. “That must be Sam and Rowena. I suppose I’ll have to finish the story for you another time,” He gets up, walks over to the door and opens it after checking the peephole. Sam and Rowena rush inside, and Dean sits on the edge of the bed to watch them.

It doesn’t take Sam and Rowena long to have everything set up, and Rowena walks over to Dean to take him by the arm and lead him over to the table where she’ll perform the spell. Cas sits back down on the bed and folds his hands in his lap. His chest aches a little bit, there’s a tug at his heart. Everything he’s just told Dean will probably be wiped from his head in a matter of seconds. Cas really can’t tell if he’s devastated by it or if he's relieved.

“You okay, man?” Sam asks him quietly, clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

Cas straightens his back and plasters a smile on his face that refuses to reach his eyes and nods. “Yes, Sam. Thank you, it’s just hard to see him this way.” It’s almost the truth.

Sam nods. “Thank you for keeping an eye on him, I really appreciate it. He’ll be back to normal in no time. Rowena’s a lot of things, but she’s not stupid. She’s got this,” he says, and it sounds like maybe he’s trying to reassure not only Cas, but also himself.

Cas nods back, and there’s a thick silence permeating the air aside from the noises that Rowena makes in order to perform the spell.

Time creeps by until Cas hears Rowena muttering some sort of incantation. There’s a flash of purple light, and Dean slumps over where he’d been seated. Sam and Cas both rush over to him, and Cas’ heart is in his throat.

As he stands over Dean, he notices the gentle rise and fall of his chest, which should probably be calming him down a hell of a lot more than it is. He thought he was saved, thought they were in the clear. Had they been too late?

The one time Cas had been brave enough to speak his truth, and Dean wouldn’t remember it. Now Cas can’t help but wonder if he’ll even live long enough to be able to hear it again. Cas hopes he will. Cas needs him to.

After entirely too long, Dean’s eyes crack open. He squints up at Sam, then over at Rowena, and then he meets Cas’ eyes. He flicks his gaze back to Sam, opens his mouth, and says: “Who’s the handsome one?” before sending a wink to Cas.

Cas drops to his knees and takes Dean’s face in his hands, scowling at him. “Dean Winchester, do not fuck with me,” he growls.

“Woah, buddy! Okay, hey, I’m sorry,” Dean laughs, “I know who you are. I’m okay, Cas, really.” He’s beaming, and Cas allows himself to drop his head to Dean’s chest for a moment. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt relief this intense.

Cas stands up, suddenly scowling again, and he punches Dean in the shoulder. “You ass,” he grits through his teeth, and then gathers Dean into his arms to hold him there, right in the motel room chair in front of Sam and Rowena.

Dean laughs against him, and Cas only clings to him tighter. Dean’s arms wrap around him, Cas feels his face in the crook of his neck. He brings a hand up to hold the back of Dean’s head, and for the first time in the last few hours, he lets himself relax and breathe easy. “Alright, buddy. Gettin’ some mixed signals here. C’mon, help me up,” Dean says, clapping Cas on the back twice before pulling back.

Cas grabs Dean's hands to help him to his feet, and if their hands hang on to one another for a beat too long, nobody says anything.

Cas’ thoughts are turning circles inside his head. Does Dean remember anything? How is that possible? Does he remember all of it? Maybe only pieces? That doesn’t really matter though, because just about all of it is incriminating. Any conversation they’ve had today could give him away. Cas supposes there’s nothing he can do about it now, and Dean doesn’t seem entirely disgusted by him, so that’s a plus.

Dean snaps his fingers in front of Cas’ face, and only then does Cas realize he’s been staring off into space while the rest of them have been making moves to pack up and head home. “We’ll be right behind you, Sam. Don’t wait up, I think I’ll ride back with Cas,” Dean tells Sam, and Cas’ blood runs cold.

Cas watches Sam and Rowena leave. He’s alone with Dean again, except Dean’s back to normal, and Cas has no idea what he knows. There’s only one good way to figure it out, he supposes.

“Dean, what do you remember from when you were cursed?”

Dean huffs, sliding his palms across his thighs as he sits down on one of the beds. The one that him and Cas had been laying on earlier. “Not a lot, man. Honestly,” he insists, his fingers dancing nervously over the tops of his thighs. “Just little snippets. Parts of conversations here and there. Nothing I can really make a whole lot of sense out of.”

Cas exhales and nods his head. He drops down next to Dean on the bed and decidedly does not look him in the face. “That’s probably for the better. You weren’t yourself,” he says, and he turns his head to look out the window of the motel room. He catches sight of Dean staring at him in his peripheral, so he flicks his eyes to meet Dean’s for a split second. He turns his head and goes right back to staring at his feet.

He wrings his hands in his lap as he sits and thinks, lost in his own mind, not for the first time today. Only a few minutes ago, he had confessed his feelings for Dean once and for all.

Dean stays silent next to him, maybe sensing that Cas needs to get lost in his mind for a little while.

Cas doesn’t tear his gaze away from his feet again for a while. He was wrong to get his hopes up, even a tiny bit. The only way Dean could ever truly love him was without the knowledge of either of their past crimes. Dean with his memories intact could only see Castiel’s mistakes, all the wrong he’s done over the years. And there’s a lot of it.

Cas knows he doesn’t deserve Dean’s love in return. He knows what he’s done, knows that Dean is still at least mildly pissed at him for the Billie situation. Rightfully so, Cas supposes, but he would have made the same decision. Cas can understand Dean’s concern, because cosmic consequences do always seem to come back and ’bite them in the ass.’

But Cas didn’t care. He still doesn’t. He’ll take sole responsibility and accept whatever consequences the cosmos decides to reign down on him. To keep Dean safe, he’d do it over and over again. No hesitation.

Dean finally breaks his concentration, clearing his throat and opening his mouth. “I remember—” he says, rubbing his palms over his thighs again. Cas is sure his face goes sickly pale, because Dean’s eyes go wide. He lets out a nervous chuckle and shakes his head, “Dude, what? Did you tell me all your secret dirty fantasies or something?” he asks, elbowing Cas in the side. If only Dean knew how close he really had guessed. “No, man. I just remember some of the stuff about you saving me from Hell,” he admits, and Cas slowly turns to face him completely.

“What parts?” He tries to keep his voice steady, but he hears himself falter. He’d be an idiot to think Dean didn’t catch it too.

“The part about you… wrapping your wings around me,” Dean sheepishly admits. He angles his body toward Cas, who’s still looking at him. “And I remember you saying that you… held me. Before I woke up underground. Is that true?”

Cas nods solemnly and lets his gaze drop to his lap again. “Yes, that’s true. I’m sorry— I didn’t mean…” he trails off, rubbing his palms against the fabric of his pants, a perfect mirror of Dean. Since when do angels sweat?

“Didn’t mean what, Cas?”

“To make you uncomfortable.”

Dean seems to sit with that for a moment, before he reaches one of his hands over to fit flush against his arm beneath his t-shirt, right over the place Cas had accidentally branded him all those years ago. “I also remember a bit about ‘body and soul,’” he says quietly, under his breath. Cas’ heart rate picks up. “Beautiful?” he asks, squeezing his own shoulder.

Cas digs his fingers into his own legs and squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t look at Dean, not right now. It’s not supposed to be like this, Dean isn’t supposed to remember. He’d made a promise before Dean’s memories were restored to tell him all of this again if he didn’t remember. Cas thinks, not for the first time, that he’s going to have to break a promise to Dean.

He still says nothing — neither of them do.

They sit on the motel bed together, the air thick with silence aside from both of them breathing, slow and steady. Cas jumps a little when Dean stands up abruptly and starts to stretch.

Cas looks at him, watches him move through the motel room. He appears to be pacing nervously. “Dean, Sam can’t have gone far. Let me call him, you can still ride back with him. I should really get back to looking for Kelly, and you should get some rest,” he sighs, standing up to pull his phone out.

“I’m good here, thanks. I don’t need you calling my brother to come pick me up, Cas. I’m a big boy,” Dean snaps, and Cas recoils. He sits back down on the bed with a huff.

“Then let’s go, Dean, let's get you home.”

“No. Fuck, Cas. Just give me a fucking minute,” Dean grumbles, standing in the middle of the room and staring at Cas.

Cas sighs and stares back at him, both of them scowling. Neither of them say anything, both too stubborn to break the silence.

In the end, it’s Dean. “I lied,” he says.

Cas stares at him, his scowl turning into a look of mild shock. A thousand thoughts swim through his mind all at once, but he can’t force a single one of them out of his mouth. He can barely make sense of them in his own head. Before, he’d been holding his tongue, not allowing himself to break first. But now, no matter how hard he tries to formulate a response, he just can’t.

“Well, sort of,” Dean starts, sighing. “Look, Cas, I don’t… I don’t know.”

Cas raises his eyebrows. “Checkout isn’t until 11 tomorrow. Take your time,” he says. There’s a hint of something behind his words, but he couldn’t even place it himself if you asked him to.

Dean paces the room some more, and he runs his hands through his hair, messing it up so it sticks in all directions. If the circumstances were different, Cas would probably smile at it. He almost does anyways.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says, after a lengthy pause and a lot more pacing. He sits back down on the bed and rests his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “Fuck.”

Cas breaks, turning to look at Dean again. He looks at Dean for a few moments, his heart thumping wildly. So badly, more than anything, he wants to take off running out the motel room door and leave. And he wants to stick to his guns and not let Dean convince him to stay. Not that he’d even try, he never does.

“So I lied. Sort of.”

“You already said that.”

Dean growls in frustration and snaps his head up to scowl at Cas. “You sure are acting like an ass for an angel that’s in love with me,” he snaps, and Cas watches his eyes go wide and hears his teeth click as he closes his mouth in an instant.

He blinks at Dean for a few moments, and he can actually feel his stomach churning. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. It was never supposed to be like this. His eyes are watering, he can tell. He feels them start to sting at the corners.

“Fuck,” Dean says again, tilting his head forward into his hands again. He rubs at his own scalp, messing up his hair even further.

“Why did you let Sam leave without you? So you could sit here and make me feel even more foolish than I already do?” Cas asks, and then adds, “Because if so, you can take my truck back to the bunker. I’ll hotwire something.”

Without waiting for an answer, Cas stands up and starts to walk toward the door. He drops the keys to his truck on the motel room table before reaching for the doorknob. Before he can turn it, Dean’s fingers curl around his other wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare leave this motel room, Cas,” he says, and his fingers tighten, as if that matters. As if Cas couldnt slip out of his grasp as easily as a needle moves through water.

Cas jerks his arm away from Dean, but he drops his hand from the doorknob. “If you want to talk, Dean, you’ll have to give me something more to work with aside from ‘fuck,’ and ‘don’t leave the motel room.’ I can’t read your mind.”

Dean sighs, and Cas watches his Adam’s apple bib up and down as he swallows. “I told you it was mostly blank. That wasn’t true. It’s more like it’s… fuzzy. Hazy, maybe,” he sighs, looking back at Cas again.

Cas can see his features have softened considerably. He’s trying, so Cas can work with that. “Okay,” Cas swallows, “I don’t expect anything from you,” he adds. “You said all of those things when you had no knowledge of my past or current crimes. Or your own, for that matter. This doesn’t change anything, Dean. I’m happy just to be your friend.”

Dean lets out a pained sound, not unlike a wounded animal. “Cas…”

Cas shakes his head, and he puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder.”I mean it. Nothing has to change,” he says, and then he shakily starts to remove his hand from where he’s making contact with Dean. Perhaps this makes Dean uncomfortable now? Cas will just have to be more careful about touching him now. That’s fine — it’s just an adjustment. One he’ll gladly make, except, Dean’s fingers curl around his wrist again, but his grip is much softer this time. Cas searches his face with wide, hopeful eyes, and Dean just guides Cas’ hand back to rest on his shoulder. He places it slightly lower, right over the mark Cas had left all those years ago.

“It already has,” Dean says, and Cas groans, digging his fingers into the flesh of Dean’s shoulder. He grips it tight and bows his head. He lets his hand fall to rest on the bed between them, and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I know you never wanted this. You didn’t ask for this. Sam can’t have gotten far, really. And if he has, you can just take the truck, it’s all fine, I’ll figure something out, dont wo— just— let me—” Cas rambles and stutters, and he starts to fumble for his phone again to call Sam and let him know that Dean has changed his mind, he does want to drive the Impala back to the bunker after all, but—

Dean takes both of Cas’ wrists in his hands now, looking at him. There’s something behind his eyes that Cas hasn’t ever seen before, or maybe he’s just never let himself see it. His hands freeze, his whole body freezes as Dean looks at him, looks through him. “Did I really—?” he cuts himself off, clears his throat, and his eyes dart from side to side for a moment. “Did I really teach you how to—how to love?” he whispers.

Cas inhales deeply, exhales slowly. He inhales again as he nods, and he starts to speak. “Yes, Dean. Of course. Before you even knew my name, you began teaching me how to love,” he says.

Dean’s breath hitches and he moves from holding Cas’ wrists to holding onto his fingertips.

“When I rebuilt you… I saw it. I saw your love, your compassion. Memories are built into the human soul. Dean. I saw everything. I saw how much you loved Sam, I saw your love for your father, regardless of how little he had actually earned it. Neither of those things ever wavered. I saw your love for Cassie, even. She was the only one you had ever loved that way, and it was beautiful. And most importantly, I saw your love for humanity.

“Your whole life, all you’ve done is protect. You protected Sam as best you could, you protected Cassie from the truth, and you protected humanity from all the evils that lurk at their doorsteps. I saw you spend thirty years in Hell, on the rack, protecting other souls from yourself. I saw it all, Dean. All of that protection, with little to no recognition,” Cas says, and he’s shaking. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t seem to stop it. He realizes, with horror, that Dean is the one that’s shaking.

His hands tremble where they hold on to Cas’, and Cas only notices now, when he focuses, that Dean is gripping his fingers hard enough to break them. If Cas were human, surely Dean would have snapped at least one bone in his hand by now. Dean’s eyes are glassy, much like they had been in the bathroom of the motel. His mouth hangs open, like he’s trying to find words to say so that Cas will stop speaking, but he can’t make himself say anything. Or maybe like he just can’t find the words.

“I only took one memory with me, when I left you to claw your way out of the Earth. Before I left, I took your memories of being rescued, your memories of being held,” Cas admits.

“Why?” Dean inquires, and the shaking intensifies. “Why would you take that from me?”

Cas furrows his brows and widens his eyes, shifts their hands so that he can try and steady Dean’s shaking. “Taking your memories of being rescued was an order. Taking your memories of being held, I…” he trails off, “My superiors couldn’t ever find out about that. I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t say something, so I had to take that,” he sighs

Dean nods. Nods like he understands. Nods like he could ever possibly understand the guilt that still weighs on Cas every day for robbing those memories of being cradled, being rescued, being safe. He doesn’t understand, there’s no way he ever could. Cas wants him to. Cas wishes he could.

“It’s okay,” Dean decides, “I don’t deserve that anyways, man. I didn’t deserve to be saved then, or any of the other times you pulled my ass out of the fire. I didn’t deserve to be saved from Hell in the first place. And now… God, Cas. I don’t deserve to remember that, not now. Not after everything.”

Cas bows his head to look at their hands. He scoots closer to Dean on the bed and clutches their joined hands to his chest. “Oh, Dean,” he says, and looks back up to see Dean’s eyes shining bright green in the light of the sunset. The only light in the room comes from the orange evening haze outside, and it shines on Dean beautifully. “You do. Of course you do.”

“I tried to kill you, Cas. I almost did. And you almost let me,” Dean whispers. The trembling increases again, and Cas holds his hands a little tighter.

“But you didn’t, Dean. Even under the influence of the Mark, you didn’t kill me. Even when it would have been so easy, even when I stopped putting up a fight. You didn’t.”

“I couldn’t,” Dean gasps, spreading his fingers to flatten his palms against Cas’ chest. “But still, I—I can’t. I can't love you back, Cas, I wasn’t made to do that.”

Cas shakes his head, scoots closer until their thighs are pressed together. He lifts his hands to cup the sides of Dean’s face, wipes a stray tear with his thumb. He smiles sadly, cradles Dean’s face in his hands. “Dean, if you don’t love me back, that’s okay. I’m okay with that, I don’t need that from you. My love is not dependent on your reciprocation. It just is. It always has been, and it always will be. But please, Dean, don’t discredit yourself. Your whole life, all you’ve done is love. Everything you do, you do for love.”

Dean lets out a choked sob, pressing his cheek into one of Cas’ palms. “I’m so fuckin’ scared, Cas,” he breathes, and his eyes slide closed. He tries to deepen his breathing, tries to get a handle on his tears. They still stream down his face freely after his eyes have closed, but his breathing steadies.

For the first time since Dean regained his memories, Cas feels hopeful again. He smiles, and he curls one hand around the back of Dean’s neck. He pulls him forward, but not for a kiss, Dean isn’t ready for that yet. Cas isn’t sure that he is either.

No, he brings Dean in, wraps one arm around his shoulders, and keeps the other on the back of his neck as he holds him close. He feels Dean’s arms wrap around his middle, feels Dean settle into his arms and nudge at his neck with his nose.

Cas doesn’t know how long he holds Dean before either of them speak. He rocks Dean very gently on the creaky motel bed, hushing him and combing his fingers through his hair to tame it from where Dean had messed it up. “This,” Cas tightens his grip around Dean’s shoulders, “is how I held you.”

Dean whimpers against him, pressing impossibly closer. They stay like that until Dean no longer can, until his muscles start to ache from the awkward position. “Do you think we can just stay here tonight? Checkout isn’t ‘til 11 like y’said, ‘nd I really don’t wanna drive eight hours right now,” he breathes, and Cas smiles at him.

“We could,” he nods, “Or you can let me drive you home while you rest.”

Dean thinks on that for a moment, and then he nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says, standing up to stretch his legs again. He wipes at his face, tries to wipe away any excess wetness that remains there. He walks around the room and gathers his things, there aren’t many, but he rounds them up and throws them into his go-bag.

Cas smiles and picks up his keys. Things aren’t perfect, but Cas thinks they just might be okay.

They make their way down to the truck together and climb in at the same time. Cas starts the truck as Dean balls his jacket up against the window to use it as a pillow. He spends a long time shuffling and repositioning, trying to get comfortable. Cas knows it isn’t going to happen. “Dean?” he speaks.

Dean cracks one eye open to look at him, and Cas pats his own thigh and jerks his head in a ‘get over here’ sort of motion.

Hesitantly, Dean takes his balled up jacket and lays it in Cas’ lap instead. He rests his head there, tries for a minute to get a little more comfortable, and eventually works it out. He’s still curled up, but his spine is straight at least. He won’t wake up as stiff as he would have in the other position. He’s a rather large man, but the truck’s bench seat is a little longer than even the Impala’s, so Dean makes due.

Cas drives them home, one hand on the wheel, and one hand scratching at Dean’s
scalp the whole way.

When Cas pulls up to the bunker and puts the truck in park, he doesn’t immediately wake Dean.

Dean is snoring softly where he lays in Cas’ lap. His face is turned toward Cas’ stomach, his nose nearly touching the tie that drapes down Cas’ torso. His breathing is even and steady, and Cas starts to pet his head again.

Still, Dean doesn’t stir. Cas just takes him in, stares at this beautiful man sleeping peacefully in his lap. The collar of his flannel is flipped up from shuffling around in his sleep, so Cas smooths it down. He lets his fingers brush through the short hairs at the base of Dean’s neck, slipping just underneath the collar of his shirt.

The black t-shirt he wears under his flannel has ridden up, and there’s an inch-long strip of his stomach showing. Cas smiles down at him, keeps one hand in his hair and lets the other trail down Dean’s spine. He rests his hand at the small of Dean’s back, his fingers slipping just beneath the hem of the t-shirt where it’s ridden up.

Dean stirs then, but it’s only to burrow his head closer to Cas. He nudges his nose against his stomach, and then presses his whole face into it. Cas is pretty sure he feels him smile.

Cas’ hand stays in Dean’s hair, the other one slides forward to wrap around his hip. “Dean?” he finally speaks, and he wonders silently if Dean had woken up and chose to nuzzle closer to him.

“Mmmph,” Dean grumbles, and Cas feels the vibration in his stomach. He laughs, and runs slow circles into Dean’s hip with his thumb.

“Don’t you want to lay down in your own bed?” Cas asks, as Dean’s arms shuffle around so that one of them is trapped between Cas’ back and the seat of the truck. His fingers press into the long, tan coat that Cas never goes anywhere without, and his other hand rests beneath his head, on top of Cas’ thigh.

He finally turns his head to look up at Cas, his eyes heavy with sleep. “You’re warm,” is all he says.

Cas chuckles and finally reaches to shut the truck off, but Dean stays planted, his arm only tightening around Cas’ middle. Cas cradles his head and continues to play with his hair, “You’d be warmer in bed.”

Dean finally decides to sit up, then, and he looks at Cas for a long moment. Cas has no idea what he’s about to say, but what he doesn’t expect is: “Will you come?”

Unmoving, Cas blinks at him. Surely he’s misunderstood — Dean must just be asking him to stay with them in the bunker for a day or two. “Inside? Yes, Dean, I had planned on it—“

“No. To bed,” Dean says, and what?

This is uncharted territory for Cas, for both of them, probably, but he finds that his head is moving up and down of its own accord. He’s nodding, giving Dean an answer before his brain ever even catches up.

Without any more words between them, Cas follows Dean through the bunker and into his bedroom. Once inside, he closes the door behind himself and hears it click. He’s not sure what to do after that, so he stands in front of the door and waits for cues from Dean.

Cas adverts his gaze when he sees Dean reach for his belt to pull it off, presumably to take his jeans off and climb into bed. In the meantime, he decides that if he’s going to be laying in bed with Dean, he should probably at least take the coat off.

He shucks off his coat, lays it over Dean’s desk chair, and resumes his post by the door. By this time, Dean has his pants off and they’re laying in a heap on the floor, and he’s laying in bed with the covers over himself. The blankets on the other side have been pulled back, beckoning Cas to slip beneath them.

“Should I—?” Cas asks, starting to fumble with his belt buckle. Dean keeps his eyes on him as he nods.

Cas knows his face flushes red again, but he untucks his shirt and makes quick work of letting the dress pants fall to the floor. He’s left in his button down, his tie, and his boxers. He thinks to himself that he probably looks ridiculous.

He makes quick work of the tie, even unbuttons the dress shirt so that it hangs open on his torso. He walks over to where Dean keeps his shirts, and he pulls one out. He lets his dress shirt fall to the floor, and he pulls on one of Dean’s shirts. It smells like him.

Last but not least, he toes off his shoes and slips underneath the covers. He keeps his eyes forward, elects not to be the one to break the silence again. He hears Dean shuffle, hears him settle further into the bed. When he risks a glance, he sees Dean with his back to him.

Dean sighs, Cas hears it. Then he clears his throat. After that, he whips his head around to give Cas A Look. Cas frowns at that, he’s not sure what to make of it.

“Are you gonna c’mere or not?”

Cas shuffles further down into bed, adjusting the pillow and pulling the blankets up over himself and over Dean. He fits himself snug against Dean’s back and lets himself feel the warmth. Hesitantly, he wraps an arm around his middle. “Like this?” he asks. He’s not exactly done this before, just for the sake of being close. He’s held Dean before, but Dean hadn’t been awake. That had been much, much different than this is.

Dean snuggles backwards into him, shuffles closer. He takes Cas’ hand from where it rests on his stomach and clutches it to his chest. Cas lets his fingers curl around Dean’s, and he presses his nose against the side of Dean’s neck. He feels Dean relax, feels him take a deep breath and go completely pliant as he releases it.

"Perfect. Just like this,” Dean says, and then: “You really are warm.”

Cas tightens his grip around Dean and presses one leg closer to him, sliding one of his ankles between both of Dean’s. He takes the arm that’s trapped between Dean’s body and his own and rubs small circles right between his shoulder blades.

Dean hums and sinks into the touch, and Cas lets his fingers trail upwards to rub at the hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck and he presses a soft kiss there, just below his ear.

Cas lets himself nose at the skin there, just breathing Dean in. He sinks into the feeling. This is something he has, even if it’s just for now. Even if Dean takes it all back in a minute, an hour, a day. He’ll still have this memory. This is something that nobody can ever take from him as he breathes deeply against Dean’s skin.

Cas presses tiny kisses into Dean’s skin and lets his eyes flutter closed. He pulls Dean closer to his chest and inhales deeply, pressing a lingering kiss to his neck on the exhale. He pulls back and he can feel Dean’s heart pounding underneath his hand where it rests on his chest.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, rubbing his hand against Dean’s heartbeat like he might be able to calm it by sheer force of will.

Dean nods, “‘M fine, thanks,” he says, sounding a little winded.

Cas hums. “I promised you something—” he pauses to press a line of light kisses up to Dean’s ear, “—before you got your memories back,” his lips ghost the shell of Dean’s ear as he speaks, and Cas feels him shiver.

Dean’s fingers curl around Cas’ wrist and he rubs slow circles there. “What did you promise?” he asks.

Cas kisses his ear, just once, and says, “I promised,” a kiss below his ear, “that if you forgot,” another kiss, right where Dean’s neck meets his jaw, “everything I told you,” one more, and he lets his teeth graze the meat of Dean’s neck, “that I would remind you,” he finishes. Dean is breathing heavily beside him, and Cas leans over him to press a kiss to his temple before settling back down.

“You’re gonna have to remind me, Cas,” Dean says, breathless. He turns over in Cas’ arms, and his whole face is flushed. His bottom lip is swollen like he’s been chewing on it.

“Oh. That’s easy,” Cas teases, and even though his heart is racing and his hands are shaking, he leans forward so their foreheads are touching, “Just that I love you.”

Dean whines, and Cas doesn’t expect it when Dean is the one to lean forward and slot their lips together. He makes a sound of surprise, but his reflexes take over and one hand comes up to hold on to the back of Dean’s neck and pull him deeper.

Dean kisses him like he needs it worse than he needs air. Cas’ mind goes peacefully silent, and all he can hear are the soft noises of his own lips moving against Dean’s. It doesn't take long for Dean to coax him onto his back, and Cas goes willingly and easily.

With Dean splayed out over him, Cas maps every part of Dean’s body that he can reach with his hands. He wraps his arms up and around Dean’s back, touching every inch of fabric-covered skin he can find. When he reaches his shoulder, he lets his hand linger there over the handprint, which earns him a beautiful noise from Dean.

Cas squeezes there for just a second before he moves to cup Dean’s cheeks. He holds his cheeks, rubs his thumbs under Dean’s eyes as they kiss, dips his tongue into Dean’s mouth. His hands roam back down to rest on Dean’s hips rubbing circles into his hip bones.

Dean pulls away to breathe, and his eyes shine as he looks down at Cas. Cas rubs his back, smiling patiently up at him. “What’s on your mind?” he asks simply.

Dean dips his head to start kissing at Cas’ neck and the little bit of his exposed collarbone from where the collar of the t-shirt has been stretched by years of being worn. Cas holds the back of his head with one hand and slips the other underneath the hem of Dean’s shirt. “Nothin’,” Dean says, shrugging off Cas. question.

Except, Cas knows Dean, probably better than anyone besides Sam. So he knows that there’s not ‘nothin’’ on Dean’s mind. “You don’t have to talk,” he speaks from beneath him, “But I’d like to, if that’s okay,” he says.

Dean keeps peppering kisses to every inch of exposed skin he can reach, and he says, “‘Course, Cas.”

Cas presses the pads of his fingers into Dean’s skin beneath his shirt as he starts to speak. “I understand you think you’re unworthy,” he says, and Dean tenses in his arms for a moment. There’s a pang in his chest, but he continues. “But you aren’t.”

Dean whines above him, kissing at his jaw. “There’s no one on Earth I can think of who is more worthy of love than you are. I know you don’t believe me, and I know I can’t make you, but I mean it. You made me a better person. You made me a better man. You taught me how to love by letting me observe you doing it constantly, with every action you take.” Dean finally lifts his head to look at Cas, and his eyelashes are sticking together from where he’s let a few tears slip out. He looks ethereal.

Cas takes his face in his hands and kisses him again, slow and deep. Dean shifts so that his forearms are on either side of Cas’ head. Cas feels him spread his legs so that he’s straddling his waist. Cas lets his hands roam down to Dean’s hips to hold him steady. “I love you,” he breathes, and he can’t be sure whose tears are on his face. He thinks it’s probably both of them, because his own eyes sting.

Dean nods his head and pulls back to look at Cas. “You gotta stop almost dying on me, man. If I say this to you, I need you not to run into the next fire you see, Cas. I need you. You can’t leave me. You can’t,” his voice breaks on the last syllable and he leans down to kiss Cas again. After he breaks it, he adds, “If I say this back, you can’t go leaving me or making deals that have cosmic consequences. I need you with me.”

Cas nods his head. “Of course, Dean. But you—I don’t need to hear it back. If you don’t say it, or if you don’t mean it, that’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what. As long as you’ll have me, I’m here. My love isn’t contingent on your reciprocation. It just exists. It always will,” he reassures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Dean shakes his head, “It’s the truth. I do mean it. And you deserve to hear it,” he says. He dips down to press another kiss to Cas’ lips before he pulls back to look him in the eye. “I love you, Cas. I love you, too. God, I—” he cuts himself off, “It scares the shit out of me, man, but I do.”

Cas smiles as wide as he ever has in all his years of life. Dean loves him back. As undeserving as they both may be, it doesn’t matter. They’re here, they’re alive, and they love each other. That’s all that matters. It’s all that ever mattered.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, flicking his gaze back and forth between both of Dean’s eyes. “I never thought…” he trails off.

Dean brushes some hair off of Cas’ forehead, trails his fingers down Cas’ cheek. Cas cracks wide open. Dean says, “Never thought what, angel?” before leaning down to kiss at his neck some more. If Cas isn’t mistaken, he thinks Dean might be leaving marks in his skin.

“Never thought I could have this. That we could have this,” Cas sighs, wrapping his arms securely around Dean. “Everyone said I was lost when I laid a hand on you in Hell,” he sighs, cupping Dean’s face so he can look him in the eye. “But they were wrong, Dean. I was found.”

Dean’s eyes shine, glaze over once again, and he dips down to kiss Cas. This kiss is chaste, not at all rushed. For now, they have all the time in the world.

Cas lets his hands roam every part of Dean that he can reach, fingertips dancing up and down his sides, along his ribs, pressing into his hips.

Dean shivers above him, and Cas slips a hand beneath his shirt. He’s never been allowed to touch this part of Dean, not since rebuilding his body after Hell. He sighs against Dean’s mouth, and he can’t help but deepen the kiss.

Dean responds in earnest, opening his mouth to Cas with enthusiasm.

Cas breaks the kiss, but only so he can tug Dean’s shirt over his head. He runs his hands over every inch of skin he can reach, letting his thumbs catch on Dean’s nipples every time he runs his hands over his chest.

Dean’s breath hitches, and Cas sits up so that he can turn Dean onto his back. Once situated with both his knees on either side of Dean’s waist, he sits up and pulls his own shirt over his head. He’s not trying to make a show out of it, but he figures he must be, if the way Dean is staring up at him says anything.

Once the shirt is somewhere across the room, Dean slides his hands around Cas’ middle to pull their chests together. To Cas, it feels suspiciously like a hug. Dean clings to him and presses the pads of his fingers into the muscle of Cas’ back.

Cas holds Dean’s head to his chest with one hand, cups his neck with the other. The whole time, all he can think about is how lucky he is. As Dean starts to pepper kisses to his chest, he wonders silently what on Earth he ever did to deserve this. And as Dean sucks one of his nipples into his mouth, Cas doesn’t think anything at all.

Cas gasps and grinds his hips down to meet Dean’s. There’s a wet spot starting to form on his boxers, and all he knows is that he needs to be out of them.

As Dean sucks and nips and licks at his chest, Cas releases his hold on him to start attempting to shove his boxers down. His hands fumble, he’s shaking a little bit — but he isn’t nervous. He’s just full of so much excitement and anticipation and love that he can’t quite hold himself steady.

The angle of his legs isn’t doing him any favors, either. He’s not going to be able to get his boxers off in this position, but he’s tired of being confined. He pulls himself out of the boxers and gasps as he gets a hand around himself.

“Here, sweetheart. Let’s get those off,” says Dean. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but after a few seconds both Cas’ and Dean’s boxers are off and Cas is back in Dean’s lap.

Cas stares down at him, trails his fingertips down Dean’s chest until he reaches his cock. He thumbs at the head, smears the wetness there over it. Dean hums below Cas and starts sucking at his neck. “Love you, Cas. Love you so much,” he breathes into the skin there. He bites, sucks, licks, and kisses at the same spots over and over until Cas is whining and grinding down in his lap.

“Dean,” Cas gasps, “please.”

“Please what, angel?” Dean asks, untucking his head from Cas’ neck to pull him in for a kiss. As he does, he gets a hand around Cas and starts stroking him at an agonizingly slow pace.

Cas makes an attempt to fuck up into his fist, but Dean holds his hip steady with his free hand. He elects to fuck his tongue into Dean’s mouth for a few moments instead before he pulls back and says: “Make love to me,” against Dean’s lips.

Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down for a few moments, and then he’s nodding. “Of course. God, Cas. Yes,” he whispers, pressing their mouths together again for a long moment. “How?” he asks.

“Like this, if that’s okay,” Cas says. He likes being where he is now, in Dean’s lap with Dean’s hands all over him. He wants — wants — everything. He wants all of it.

Dean smiles up at him, soft and reserved. “Anything,” he says, “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Cas swallows and cups Dean’s cheeks with his hands. He looks at him — really looks at him. “All I have ever wanted is you. This,” Cas says, “is more than I ever dreamed of.”

Dean trails his hands up and down his sides as they kiss languidly, stopping at his hips every so often to grind Cas down into his lap. All of it makes Cas’ head spin. He’ll never have enough of this. He thought, only a few minutes ago, that he could live with it if tonight was all he ever got. But now, in Dean’s lap, he knows he could never be without this feeling again.

Dean finally pulls back to grab something from one of the nightstands -- lube, Cas thinks, and he’s right. It’s a small bottle, about half-full, and Cas takes the opportunity to just look at him again. Dean’s cheeks, neck, and chest are all flushed so beautifully. His hair is sticking to his forehead, which is just slightly damp. His chest is nearly heaving from how hard he’s breathing, and there’s only one word that comes to mind. Beautiful.

Cas repositions himself on the bed, he knows what’s coming. It’ll be easier for Dean to prep him if he lays on his back with his legs spread and his hips propped up with a pillow, so he does that and he lets Dean watch him. When they’re both ready, he’ll climb back into Dean’s lap. But for now, this works. This is good.

Dean settles himself between Cas’ legs and takes the head of his cock into his mouth. He doesn’t bob his head much, he just runs his tongue back and forth, up and down over the slit. Cas nearly lets his hips buck up into Dean’s mouth, but he stops himself at the last second and groans.

Dean pops off of him and the sound it makes is absolutely obscene. Once Dean is actually inside of him, Cas knows he isn’t going to last long. But they can take their time with this part. They have all the time in the world in the span of the next few hours.

Dean looks up at him through his eyelashes and Cas melts. This is the man he loves, the man he’s loved for almost a decade now. He watches Dean as he slicks up his fingers, hisses when Dean pours a little bit of lube directly on him. Dean’s got — three, must be — fingers wet with lube, and he presses one against Cas.

Cas tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and absolutely does not take his eyes off of Dean. Not even to blink. Cas’ mouth falls open in a silent moan when Dean’s finger presses slowly inside of him.

Once he’s sunk all the way in, Dean pauses. Cas just lets himself feel it. The slightly uncomfortable, but definitely not painful stretch. There are times when Cas can — not turn it off — but dull his Grace. If he wants, he can allow himself to feel a fuller scope of human sensation. Right now, the dial is as low as he can get it.

Dean presses kisses into Cas’ thighs on either side of his head as he starts pumping his finger. Cas’ breathing picks up, and he still doesn’t take his eyes off of Dean’s. “You look — shit, Cas, you look so good like this,” Dean says, and he lets out a breathy chuckle when he does. “More?” he asks, pulling his finger out to press another against him, without pressing back inside yet.

Cas just nods, “Yes. More, Dean, please,” he breathes, grinding his hips down so that the tips of Dean’s fingers slip inside of him. He gasps at the stretch, but he doesn’t stop rhythmically rolling his hips downward.

Dean hums as he presses both fingers inside of him. He doesn’t waste time opening him up now, seemingly eager to get this show on the road. Cas is too, so he can’t complain. It doesn’t take long, then, for Dean to press a third finger in along with the first two.

Cas is whining and squirming and pleading by the time Dean has him ready. “Dean,” Cas is gasping, “You — I need — now. Please.”

Dean chuckles again, that same low, breathy laugh. He sits up and strokes himself a couple of times, throwing his head back and groaning. Cas may not know as much as Dean about what it means to be human, but he knows that Dean is putting on a show for him. He also knows it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed.

Dean repositions himself on the bed. He gently takes the pillow from below Cas’ hips and puts it behind his lower back against the headboard. He then takes another one for his upper back, and he leans back against them with his legs spread. “You said like this, right? C’mere, angel,” he says, pouring what looks like more than enough lube on himself, and then spreading it.

Cas licks his lips and straddles Dean. He leans down to kiss him, resting his arms on top of Dean’s shoulders. “I love you,” he says against his mouth, “I will always love you.”

Dean swallows, Cas hears it more than sees it. He positions Cas over his cock, rubbing the tip of it against his rim. “Shit, Cas. Me too, you know. I love you too.”

Cas leans forward so that their lips touch, but he doesn’t kiss Dean. “Show me,” he breathes against his mouth, and oh, Dean does.

He takes a gentle hold of Cas’ hips and slowly presses him down, letting them both get used to it. Cas gasps and throws his head back. This feeling, this right here, this is holy. This is all of the faith he ever put into the Righteous Man below him, culminated into one moment. They were always going to wind up here, they had to. How could they not? Dean had been right when he lost his memories. How could they not?

After that, neither of them last very long. Cas rolls his hips, rocks with Dean inside of him, lifts himself up and down slowly, and then fast. When Dean comes, he wraps his arms all the way around Cas’ middle and pulls him close so their chests are flush. He thrusts into him once, twice, three times, and then he stays there, groaning. He whines and his hips twitch and Cas can actually feel when it happens. He can feel Dean twitching inside of him, can hear his name on Dean’s lips.

Dean stays hard long enough for Cas to grind down on him a couple more times, and Dean wraps his hand around Cas’ cock, and that’s it. He comes, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he does so. His eyes flash blue as he watches his own come paint Dean’s chest, spill over his knuckles. The bulb in the lamp on Dean’s desk bursts.

He collapses against Dean after he falls off the precipice, breathing heavily. Neither of them say anything in the new darkness of the room, they both know they don’t need to. Cas gasps when he feels Dean slip out of him after softening enough to do so. Dean just rubs his hands up and down Cas’ sides and his back, holding him close to his chest.

Cas tucks his face into Dean’s neck and presses kisses there. He feels Dean laugh underneath him, and he pulls back to see Dean with eyes brighter than they were even when he had lost the memories of everything that weighs on him. Even in the near pitch-blackness of the room, Cas can see how brightly Dean shines. “What?” he asks.

Dean shakes his head. “You —” he pauses, stopping to laugh, “—you said… You said you didn’t think you could ever have this,” he says, and the laughter subsides. There are tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, Cas can see them, but he knows they’re happy this time. “You’ve always had me, Cas. You always will.”

Cas lets something rip out of his throat, halfway between a sob and a laugh. There in the darkness of Dean’s room, he’s never seen more clearly. “You have me, too. Always.”

Dean presses a blind kiss to Cas’ skin wherever he can reach, and it winds up being his collarbone. Cas smiles, and he climbs off of Dean’s lap. “Gonna clean us up, be right back,” Dean says, and Cas hears him shuffle around and walk across the room. He flicks the light on so he can see, and Cas’ face lights up in an instant at the sight of him.

Dean’s face flushes under Cas’ gaze, as if he wasn’t just inside Cas a couple minutes ago. It just makes Cas smile bigger as he watches Dean wipe his hand on an already-dirty shirt and throw his robe on. He leaves the room for a couple of minutes, and comes back with a warm rag and a glass of water for them to share. He puts the water down on the nightstand and wipes his hand and chest off a little better, letting the robe hang open.

Cas spreads his legs as Dean makes his way over to the bed again. He lets Dean clean him up, and his heart aches in his chest at how gentle Dean is. It’s a simple intimacy, but it’s just another thing Cas never imagined he'd get to experience. Dean presses a kiss to his stomach before he throws the rag somewhere across the room to be dealt with later.

Dean helps Cas sit up in bed, even though Cas doesn’t really need it. He just likes the feeling of Dean’s hands on him. He grabs the water off the nightstand and takes a few gulps. He doesn’t need it, but it feels nice going down, so he drinks. He hands it to Dean when he’s done, who downs the rest of it in one go.

Cas takes the glass back and puts it down on the nightstand again. “You should rest, Dean,” he says, pressing a kiss to his head. Dean gets situated, lying down and situating his pillows. He covers himself with the blanket and pulls it back so Cas can get underneath it too.

Cas smiles and kisses his lips just once before he stands up to turn out the light. He walks back to the bed in the dark and crawls in to wrap his arms around Dean. He holds him there with his head to his chest, carding his fingers through the hair on the top of Dean’s head where it’s a little longer than the rest.

Dean hums against him. “I think you owe me a story about an angel saving some guy from Hell,” he says through a yawn.

Cas chuckles. “Yes, I think I do.”

Dean nods off somewhere between being wrapped in Cas’ wings and being held inside a small pine box that was never made to truly contain either of them.

Cas settles in for a night of listening to the sounds of Dean breathing, a constant reminder that he’s safe.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.