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The sky was heavy with clouds. Dean squinted upward toward where he could just barely make out the sun behind the dark covering. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist around the keys. He’d have to put Baby in the garage again. The doors creaked shut as Sam and Cas climbed out, duffle bags in tow.
“Why don’t you guys head inside, get unpacked? I’ve gotta put Baby away in case it rains.”
Cas nodded, rolling his shoulders before hoisting his duffel higher on his arm. “Of course,” He walked inside the bunker, his trench coat flowing out behind him. Dean watched him go. One of these days that coat would get caught in the door and Cas probably wouldn’t understand why he was suddenly trapped. Dean would have to save him. Sam passed by him with a pat on the shoulder and the door closed without incident.
Dean put Baby away.
As a celebration for a successful hunt, Dean decided to cook burgers instead of ordering food. Cas would probably only taste atoms, but at least it was worth a shot. Sam would like it, anyway. Dean stepped down the hall to the kitchen, but he paused when he noticed Cas reading in his room.
Cas reached back and rubbed between his shoulder blades, his mouth twisted down. Dean frowned, but he kept walking. It was probably nothing.
But, then again, when was it ever nothing?
He put the burgers on the stove, humming Stairway to Heaven while the meat sizzled in the pan. The delicious smell of ground beef filled his nose and he smiled. He had missed cooking when he and Sam had been on the road. He was glad they’d found the bunker. He could actually cook again. He reached up into the cabinet to grab buns.
“Burgers?”
Dean startled and turned to see Sam in the doorway. “Well, yeah. I mean, we took out the shifter with minimal casualties. Why not have an actual meal to celebrate?”
Sam shrugged and stepped into the kitchen. He looked around, then leaned back on the counter. He seemed quiet, so Dean slowed his motions and glanced over at him. Sammy had different tones of quiet, and Dean had felt them all. He should know the difference between them. There was I’m-upset-quiet, I’m-tired-quiet, I’m-hurt-quiet, fuck-off-quiet (Dean had felt that one more times than he wanted to remember), and more. This one was more along the lines of I-have-something-to-say-but-I’m-not-sure-how-to-say-it-quiet. So Dean waited. He would say something eventually.
Dean flipped the burgers over. He carefully spread the buns out over the griddle to toast. Burgers were better when there was a crunch to compliment the soft meat.
Finally, Sam took a deep breath. “Have you noticed anything… off about Cas? He seems – I don’t know – he’s acting weird.”
Dean turned back to the pan, his brow furrowed. He remembered seeing Cas in his room, the odd expression on his face. It wasn’t one that he saw often enough to place, but he definitely remembered it. It couldn’t have been what Sam was referring to, could it? Maybe, but Sam seemed to be referencing more. “I don’t know. I guess. Why?”
Sam shrugged again. “I just noticed that he’s acting weird. He wouldn’t sit still in the car and he keeps fidgeting. He looks kinda uncomfortable.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll talk to him after dinner. See if I can figure out what’s up.”
“Yeah.” Sam nodded. He stood up. “Yeah, okay.”
He left. Dean finished cooking.
All three of them were sitting at the table together. Sam had already finished his burger, but somehow he’d managed to find a salad to eat (Dean had no idea how. He hadn’t prepared one and there sure as hell weren’t any bagged salads in the kitchen), so he was loudly crunching lettuce. Dean took another bite of his own burger, ketchup staining his mouth, and looked over at Cas.
Cas had only taken one bite of the burger and wrinkled his nose. Now he just poked the burger sadly. He shifted in his seat and rolled his shoulders out again. He had that same expression from earlier.
Dean caught Sam staring at him. Sam tilted his head toward Cas meaningfully. Dean leaned back in his chair with a sigh and nodded, shoving the rest of his burger in his mouth. Sam stood up slowly and stretched.
“Well, I’m going to go wash the dishes,” He said, picking up his plate – still full of salad – and Dean’s plate. “Cas, you done?”
Cas looked up quickly, then down, his actions slowing again. “Oh, yes. Sorry.”
Dean rested his forearms on the table as Sam picked up the plates and left. Cas looked up at Dean mournfully. “I didn’t mean to waste your cooking. I’m sure it was very good, I just-”
Dean waved him off. “Nah, man, you’re good. I get it. You can only taste atoms.”
Cas stopped, his mouth hanging open. He snapped it shut and nodded sheepishly. He shifted again in his seat and Dean saw his shoulders press back as if he were trying to stretch subtly. His gut twisted, his hunter's instinct telling him that there was something more to that action than just a simple stretch. Sam was right; something was off.
Dean drummed his fingers on the table. How would he ask Cas what was wrong? He didn’t want to make Cas think he was suspicious of anything – which was usually why he asked these questions – and he didn’t want Cas to shut him out. He sighed and looked up to see Cas’ eyebrows furrowed and his mouth twisted down in a frown.
Screw it, he thought. “Hey, Cas, is everything all right?” Cas’ eyes snapped up. Dean noticed his hand start to move back and then stop. He tilted his head.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
Dean looked away and shrugged, suddenly finding it difficult to put words together. “I don’t know, man, it’s just – something seemed off with you today and I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Cas narrowed his eyes. Oh, no, Dean thought. He thinks I’m blaming him for something.
Again, a quiet voice in the back of his mind added. He thinks you’re blaming him again.
“I’m fine, Dean. Don’t worry about it.”
Dean nodded and looked down at his hands. He didn’t want to accept the answer, but he had seen the shutters behind Cas’ eyes. They were threatening to close on him. He decided to let it go. He didn’t want to see them close. “Yeah, all right.”
Cas stared at Dean for another moment, then excused himself to go read. Dean watched him go, worried. He knew something was wrong. No one who says they’re fine is actually fine. At least, not in his experience.
Dean stopped at the top of the stairs. He’d gone up to double check that the door was locked – a habit that had stuck from his time with Lisa, he supposed – when he heard rain singing on the door. So he’d been right in his guess to put Baby in the garage. He didn’t want her to rust.
He listened for a moment. The rain pattered on the outside of the door, high and metallic. It sounded nice, but sometimes he wished he could listen to it pounding on glass windows while he laid out on the couch reading a book. He closed his eyes. He could almost hear the thunder rumbling clearly through the living room, not muted by the thick iron walls of the bunker. There was someone beside him, too, reading their own book. When he’d first had this daydream it had been Lisa sitting beside him. Recently, though, it had been someone else. Dean could never tell who. It was just… someone.
He shook himself out of the dream and checked the lock, then bounced back down the stairs. The rest of the bunker was quiet. Dean yawned and padded softly down the hallway, his socked feet slipping on the smooth wood floors. He turned down the hallway with the bedrooms just as Cas emerged from his own room.
Cas stretched, but before he could fully extend his arms he winced and retreated back into himself. Dean saw him rub his shoulders. He furrowed his brow, his chest tight, and quickened his steps. “Hey, Cas, what’s wrong?”
Cas jumped and whirled around to face Dean. He stared for a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing, Dean. It’s nothing.”
Dean stopped in front of Cas and looked him over. That expression was still on Cas’ face from earlier. Dean decided he didn’t like it. His hand twitched, eager to smooth out the creased lines beside Cas’ eyes. Dean stopped. No, not right now. He pressed that thought back where it’d come from.
Dean shook his head. “No, dude, it’s not nothing. Your shoulders are freaking tense, man, and you look like you’re in pain.”
Cas froze, eyebrows raised. Then he slumped and leaned back against the walls. “Am I really that obvious?” He muttered miserably.
Dean’s heart quickened its pace. Cas was basically admitting that he was in pain. What if he was hurt on the hunt? He’s an angel; he should be able to heal his injuries. If it wasn’t healed by now it must have been bad. Why would he hide it though? What if it was too late to fix it?
Cas must have caught Dean’s expression because he stood up straight and shook his head. “No, Dean, don’t worry. It’s from an old injury. I’m fine, really.”
Dean exhaled, but still, his eyes flickered over Cas, double-checking – just in case. “An old injury? I thought you angels healed like that,” he snapped his fingers to punctuate his point. It was what he’d seen from experience, anyway.
Cas frowned. “Mostly, yes. But when an angel’s wings are broken… that’s a different matter.” He reached back to rub between his shoulder blades.
Dean froze. Wings? Broken? He shook his head. “Cas, what are you talking about?”
Cas closed his eyes and leaned against the wall again. Dean recognized his expression immediately. It was the one Cas made whenever he was trying to figure out how to tell Dean something bad without Dean blaming himself. Something heavy sat in Dean’s gut.
Cas passed a hand through his hair and looked up at Dean. “When I pulled you out of hell, I had to fight my way in and out. When the demons tried to stop me, they grabbed at the easiest thing to get a grip on – my wings.” Cas paused, closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. “Wings are – they’re fragile, Dean.”
Oh.
Dean reached out and laid a hand on Cas’ shoulder gently. He didn’t want to hurt him, but he looked like he needed comfort.
“I broke my wings to get you out.” It sounded more like a sigh as if he were letting go. Cas put a hand on Dean’s. He tried not to read into the way Cas leaned toward the touch. Then Cas shook his head and when he looked back up at Dean, his eyes were clear. “But it’s alright. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It really only aches when it rains. I’m fine.”
“Still, Cas,” Dean’s voice came out thick, emotions pulling at his chest. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry that you had to do that for me. I think we have some Motrin or something in the bathroom. I’ll go grab it and be right back.”
“Dean, I don’t think-”
Dean waved him off, and Cas stopped. “Just go lie down or something, Cas.”
He walked away, clenching and unclenching his fists. Cas was hurt for him. Cas was hurt because of him. Cas didn’t deserve that. He deserved so much better than being stuck with him. It wasn’t fair. Dean threw open the medicine cabinet, probably with more force than necessary. He rifled through the random pill bottles and withdrew Motrin. He shook out a pill in held it gently in the palm of his hand.
He carried the pill back to Cas’ room after grabbing a glass of water. He paused in the doorway. Cas was curled on the bed facing away from the door. Dean took a deep breath.
“Here, Cas, swallow this.”
Cas head poked up, his hair ruffled. When he saw Dean he rolled over and sat up to take the glass and the pill. He swallowed the medicine obediently and handed the glass back to Dean. Dean put it down on the table.
“That should help,”
Cas shook his head. “I’m not sure human medicine will work on angel wings.”
Dean sat down on the bed next to Cas. “Well, it’s worth a shot. How bad does it hurt?”
Cas lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Not badly. As I said, it really only aches when it rains. I’m fine.”
“Still, Cas. You shouldn’t have had to do that. Especially not for me.” Cas’ hand flew out to grip Dean’s wrist. Dean looked up and met Cas’ eyes, wide and wild. His heart pounded in his chest.
“Dean,” Castiel’s voice cut through his whole being. It was sharp and commanding and allowed no room for other thoughts. Everything was focused on Cas. “Dean, I would do it again. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. There is nothing you don’t deserve. I would do it again.”
He couldn’t breathe. He tried to inhale but it stuck in his lungs and stayed there. He was trapped by Cas’ smoldering eyes, his powerful voice echoing in Deans ears. I would do it again. Cas would choose pain over safety to save Dean. I would do it again. It rattled Dean to his very core and Cas wouldn’t look away and Dean can’t breathe because why would anyone want to help him why why why-
“Dean,” Cas says again. His eyes soften and suddenly Dean’s lungs unstick. “Are you okay-”
“Show me,” Dean gasped, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, tore his eyes away.
Cas grip softened. “Dean, I would if I could, but human senses are not attuned to-”
“Wait, hang on, Cas. I have an idea, just give me a second.”
He stood quickly and bolted down the hall to the library. He knew Sam organized it and the meticulous order on the shelves helped him find what he was looking for quickly. He pulled the book off of the shelf and hurried back to Cas’ room. He threw the book down on the bed, startling Cas, and flipped through the pages.
He found the page he was looking for and stopped. A detailed outline of a bird’s wings covered the page, complete with bone and muscle structures and labels. He sat on the bed next to Cas and pointed to the diagram. “Show me.”
Cas looked between Dean and the book. His expression was soft and almost disbelieving as if he couldn’t understand why Dean cared so much. Finally, he shifted closer and squinted at the page. Then he pointed at a bone extending from a joint on the wing. Alula, it was labeled. “That was the worst of the damage. It was broken and bent back.”
Dean nodded. “How is it supposed to be?”
Cas traced a finger along the wing joint. “It’s supposed to follow the joint. Think of it like… think of it like your thumb.” Cas gently took Dean's hand and traced his knuckled down the line of his wrist and along his thumb. Dean shivered. “See how it follows your wrist? That’s how the alula is supposed to be. Mine were bent back.”
Dean looked up and met Cas’ eyes. They seemed sad and Dean longed to smooth the creases by the corners. “But they’re healed now.” His voice suggested that it was a statement, but Cas understood what Dean meant.
“Yes. Not quite properly, but yes.”
“What do you mean? They didn’t heal properly?”
Cas shook his head and rolled his shoulders out. “No. At the time Heaven was preparing for war. There was chaos. They didn’t quite care if some random angel had broken wings.” He took a deep breath, shoulders heaving. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I healed.”
Dean gaped. “Just some random angel? Cas, what the hell are you talking about? You’re not ‘just some random angel’! You saved me – Dean-freakin’-Winchester – from hell, and at the time they thought I was the key to beating Lucifer! You were- you are – important, Cas!”
Cas just shrugged, which only infuriated Dean more. Cas thought he wasn’t important because the rest of heaven couldn’t be bothered to care about one of their own. It only served to solidify Dean’s former judgment – angels are dicks.
“Cas, look at me.” Dean insisted, taking Cas’ hand and squeezing it. Cas looked up slowly. “You are important. You are important to me. You’re important to Sam. We need you.” Dean paused and turned some familiar words over in his mind. “I need you.”
Cas’ eyes shone. Dean squeezed his hand gently as if he could seal his words into Cas’ mind. He needed Cas to know how important he was. Cas nodded and closed his fingers around Dean’s hand. He turned back to the book and gestured with his free hand. “That was the worst of the damage. My left wing was sprained and my feathers were damaged, but those healed better than the broken bones. All of my feathers grew back and the breaks and sprain only ache sometimes.”
Dean knocked his knee against Cas’. “I’m glad you healed. I’m sorry that it still aches.”
“Only when it rains,” Cas said with a laugh. “As I said, I’m fine now, Dean. Really. But I appreciate your help.”
Dean smiled. Cas’ face betrayed no sign of pain anymore. He was almost glowing as he laughed and Dean’s heartbeat quickened. If only Cas knew what Dean meant whenever he said ‘I need you’. ‘I need you’ and ‘I love you’ were almost interchangeable in his mind now, but he only ever said one out loud. Even so, Cas’ laugh and Cas’ smile made it hard to press that thought back.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Dean leaned forward and captured Cas’ lips with his own. Cas stilled. Panic clouded Dean’s head. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? He moved to retreat, but suddenly Cas revived and chased his movement. Cas was kissing him back. Dean’s brain bluescreened because holy shit Cas was kissing him back.
It was heaven and hell and purgatory all rolled together and burning in Dean’s chest. It was power and weakness and rising and falling and holding on and letting go. All of it, all at once. This is it, Dean thought. This is what I’ve been missing.
When they pulled apart, he almost didn’t want to let go. He looked into Cas’ eyes and saw wonder and awe. “Dean,” One word. It was only one word, but it held everything. It was full of hope and longing and love. Dean almost couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t have believed it had he not felt it himself.
He was speechless. He had so much he wanted to say and no idea how to say it. So he settled onto words so familiar they might as well have been carved into his mind. “I need you,”
Cas exhaled softly, his eyes widening. His mouth dropped open and Dean saw it. Cas knew. He had finally realized what Dean had been trying to say every time. “I need you, too, Dean.”
All of Dean’s emotions escaped at once in a wild laugh. He had forgotten how good it felt to laugh without it being forced. It felt so good, warmth bubbling in his chest. Castiel was smiling, wide and gummy and genuine and damn it the son of a bitch looked proud of himself. Dean loved it.
He huffed, feeling freed and lighter than he had in years. “How long?” he asked.
“A long time,” Cas responded. “A while after we met. Probably when you started bending rules.”
Dean smiled. “So you like a bad boy,” he teased, raising an eyebrow and smirking.
Cas pushed his shoulder. “Sure, Dean. Whatever you say.”
Dean laughed again. He thought back to the night they had met, the thunderstorm, the clattering on the roof of the old shack, Cas’ dramatic entrance with sparks flying.
He paused. He played the memory over in his mind again, the loud thud and the following clanging on the roof. “Wait, Cas,” he said, holding his hands up as he struggled to retain a straight face. Cas tilted his head curiously. “That night, after you brought me back. Did you crash into the roof?”
Cas opened his mouth, blush creeping up his neck and flushing his cheeks. He looked away quickly.
“Oh, my god, you did, didn’t you!”
Cas smacked him and buried his face in his hands. “Shut up,”