Chapter Text
There was a gentle breeze lingering in the crisp, warm autumn air. Dean snapped the tiny window of his apartment open, and ducked outside to suck in a deep breath.
It was a calm, silent Saturday night, and Dean had come home from the garage a while ago. He showered, poured out a drink, and decided to spend the evening reading or maybe, researching his next target. The apartment he lived in was a modest, small apartment on the edge of the city. A cheap deal when Dean found it. The ventilation was shit, but it was bearable. Though the locality was destitute and the only other person living in the apartment was a drug-addict, it was everything Dean needed— reclusive, small, and cosy. Dean fished out a Marlboro and pressed it to his lip. He lit the bud, and took a long, slow drag of it, swallowing down the coarse smoke with a loud gulp, and letting the air out as he leaned against the window.
There was time until he met Castiel again, probably another week or so. Dean knew where he lived, but they weren't close enough for him to show up uninvited. There was the familiar pressure of arousal and tension coiling in his gut, so he wondered whether he would be able to pick up some whore at a red-light and fuck her sore, but none of them compared to what Castiel made Dean feel. When he moaned, when he whimpered, when he breathed out Dean's name like a prayer, when he arched his back and rode Dean, chasing his own orgasm like a rabid animal, or when he let Dean pound him into the bed— no one did it the way Castiel did.
Dean sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Work was hectic, and the exhaustion that came after it had already become all-time familiar to Dean, but it never failed to wear him out. Sleep itched at his eyes, and he brushed a hand across his face to rub it away. Maybe some music would energize him. Dean padded over to where his vinyl collection was, some bought some stolen, and popped the vinyl for Led Zeppelin into his player, and let the music echo through the air.
Dean sat down at his study, and decided to jot down some pointers about his next target, a lewd, corrupt owner of a diner that mistreated the homeless men outside his diner, and molested his waitresses. But as he was writing in his diary, he heard his door pounding. Dean jolted up to his feet, and grabbed a large blade as he walked over to the door. There were only two people who knew where he lived— himself and Pamela. Dean was gripped with a sense of unease and a sliver of panic, but the moment he swung the door open, it all vanished.
Because standing in front of him, his face scattered with purple bruises, and a small, chubby baby in his arms was— Castiel.
"Dean." Castiel whispered.
Dean was torn between studying his face and studing the child he was carrying— the baby was fast asleep against his chest, held so delicately in Castiel's gentle hands.
"What are you doing here?" Dean asked, half incredulous and half concerned as he hid the blade behind, and let Castiel inside. Castiel had a small bag hung on the other shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I got your address from Pamela. I— I didn't know who else to go to." Castiel croaked out, and the more Dean observed him, the more he noticed how red and swollen his baby-blue eyes were. Dean locked the door behind him, and turned to face Castiel with folded arms as Castiel stood in the middle of the room, simply standing and waiting for Dean, panting and sobbing.
"Cas, sweetheart, what is it." Dean cooed, and wrapped Castiel in a tight, crushing hug. The moment their bodies met, Castiel gave in, crying and wailing into Dean's shoulder, like a child who had lost his mother in a crowd. Castiel did not speak, he simply cried, and all Dean could do was soothe a hand down his back. The baby on his chest must have heard it, because the next second, it began wailing too. Castiel snapped back, and the pain that had beset his face vanished at the drop of a hat, and instead, he turned away and bounced the baby on his shoulder, mumbling something along the lines of oh it's okay, daddy's sorry, sweetheart, I'm so sorry.
Dean watched as the baby quietened down, and snuggled into Castiel again. It gave a tiny, big yawn. Castiel turned to Dean, devoid of any emotion except for concern. "Do you have warm milk?"
It took Dean a minute to catch on.
"Yes. Yeah. Yeah, sorry warm milk. Right." Dean mumbled, and charged into the small kitchen, grabbing some milk from the fridge and heating it up on a stove. Castiel walked into the kitchen then, with a small, feeding bottle in his hand. They did not speak—rather Dean could not wrap his head around why Castiel was here, beaten and bruised and crying, with some strange kid in his hand.
Castiel stepped into his space and nudged him aside, grabbing a spoon from the counter— as if he belonged here— and poured a droplet of milk onto his hand to test its warmth. Without a word, he switched off the stove, poured the milk into the bottle, and rushed outside to where the baby was lying on the couch. Castiel picked it up— so gentle and tender, and pressed the nipple of the bottle to its hungry mouth. The baby began to suckle, and Castiel held it against his chest.
Dean watched them. There was something so domestic, so warm and gentle, so normal about the sight in front of him, nothing Dean had ever expected to see. The more he watched them, the harder it was to tear his gaze away. Castiel smiled when the baby finished the bottle of milk, and rubbed his back.
"Is there somewhere I can lay him down." Castiel asked, quiet and weary.
"On the bed. Let him sleep on my bed." Dean whispered. They kept their gaze down, not meeting each other's. Dean guided Castiel inside to his small, queen-size bed and untucked part of the cover to let the baby sleep in. Castiel lay the tiny, chubby thing down and kissed its head before walking out into the living room with Dean at his side.
Exhaustion wrecked the young man's face— every pale, supple inch of it teeming with fatigue and pain. Castiel sighed, and dropped back onto the couch. Dean walked over to his table and poured out another drink, a small glass of whiskey, and handed it over to Castiel, who took it with a small smile. "Thanks. I needed it."
Dean leaned back against the wall to face Castiel. Their gaze met, and for a moment, they simply studied each other.
"I need an explanation."
"I'm sorry for barging in. I didn't know where to go. And Lucifer won't find me here." Castiel sighed, and downed the drink in one go. Dean walked over to him, poured him another one, and crouched down in front of him to caress his face.
"Nobody will hurt you here, sweetheart. And I'll chop up whoever tries to. C'mere." Dean whispered, and watched as Castiel leaned into the touch, trembling and sighing.
Their drink was left aside as they hugged, and Dean couldn't help but press kisses all over Castiel's young face. Castiel clung to Dean— so small and scared. They kissed, slow and assuring, hands wandering around as they relished in the taste of one another. Dean pulled away, and stroked a hand down Castiel's face. Castiel rested his head against Dean's neck, and stayed there.
"There is a lot you don't know about me."
"I want to know, Cas."
Castiel gulped. Dean squeezed onto the couch next to Castiel to press him into his chest. Castiel laid against Dean and sighed, tracing his finger down Dean's chest as they basked in the silence.
"Lucifer was a friend of Gabriel. Gabriel, Kelly and I were the only siblings who lived together up until a few years ago. Gabriel wanted to start a drug business, he thought he could pull it off. So he took a huge loan from Lucifer, thinking he'd be able to pay it back when the coke money started pouring in. But it never did. The debt became so daunting to the point that— the point that Gabriel decided it was better to be dead than alive and indebted. But Lucifer wanted his due— so Kelly and I did everything we could to pay it back. Then one night, Kelly cam home crying, she was traumatised. Lucifer had called her over on the pretense of work, and he— he—"
The rest of Castiel's words never made it past his throat, but the way his eyes brimmed with tears was telling enough. Dean pulled Castiel closer, even though they were all-but glued together. Castiel buried his face in the front of Dean's shirt, and Dean could feel the wetness of his tears seep through the fabric.
"Three months later, we found out she was pregnant. It was Lucifer's. And when we told him, he lost it— he had his men punch me and beat me up, and they did the same to Kelly. But she couldn't drop the kid— the abortion would have injured her, try as she may. She hoped she could take the baby away, somewhere they could be safe, so she and I stayed on the low for half-an-year, until at last, Lucifer found us. Kelly went into labour, but she didn't make it. Too much blood loss, the surgeon said. I lost the only two people I loved and cared for, and because I was the only one there for Kelly, I decided to take the baby. I decided in that one moment, I wasn't going to let that child down. I would give it everything it needed, love it as deeply as I could. I wouldn't let my sister's pain go to vain."
Dean felt Castiel pull away. Castiel wiped his face, and even with his face swollen and red, when he gave a small smile, and looked toward the bedroom. "His name is Jack. Kelly wanted to name him after her birth-father. He turned two last week."
When Castiel was done, there was only one single doubt lingering in the back of Dean's mind. "Is Jack the reason you won't let me kill Lucifer."
A beat passed between them.
"Yes. I earn some money, but it isn't enough. Lucifer on the other hand, legally, he needs to pay child-support, it's something he can't dodge. The only reason my baby is alive and healthy is because that man gives us the money we need. Without him, Jack and I would be on the street, and I cannot let that happen."
Everything clicked— everything fell into place. The reason Castiel was so timid, so scared, so paranoid; the reason he dismissed Dean's plan to kill Lucifer; the reason Castiel let Lucifer use him, beat him, rape him.
But that raised another question.
"Castiel," Dean said and turned to face Castiel, eye to eye. "What happened tonight."
It was a demand, less of a question.
Castiel's face softened. His eyes fluttered down to then floor. Dean nudged his jaw up until they were looking at each other again.
"He tried to hit Jack."
Dean sighed. Without a word, he got up and walked over to where he kept his emergency first-aid kit. Behind him, Castiel sat still on the couch, sniffling quietly.
"I can tolerate everything Dean, and I have tolerated it so far. Whatever he wanted, I've let him have it. I've ruined my life for him. But I won't let him do that to my baby. I won't let that monster lay a finger on my baby." Quiet sniffling turned to hitched sobbing as Castiel jerked in place, and fell back against the armrest of the couch.
Dean watched him for a moment— his face small and weak, stained purple and red with bruises; his eyes shut as he breathed, his chest rising and falling.
Castiel fluttered his lashes open, and their gaze met.
For the first time in forever, it was Dean who was taken aback.
Castiel sat up, and made place for Dean on the couch. Instead, Dean crouched down in front of Castiel. The kit was left aside. Dean studied Castiel for a second, before taking his small hands into his own, and pressing soft, lingering kisses to his knuckles.
"I won't let him hurt you again, ever. Not you, not Jack. I'll teach him a lesson, Cas, I'll make him pay. I'm gonna' make him pay for every goddamn bruise on your face, every goddamn mark, every goddamn tear." Dean growled out, and watched as Castiel cracked the slightest of a smile. Castiel leaned forward to rest his forehead against Dean's, and Dean could smell the traces of whiskey in his breath.
"I love you, Dean. I know you'll keep me safe."
"You'll always have me, Cas. And you'll be the only one I ever, ever love. Love is the last thing I understand, but what I feel for you is indescribable."
Castiel's blue eyes gleamed at that, and he leaned forward to capture Dean's lips into a slow, sensual kiss. It started chaste and pure, before growing wilder and uncontrolled. Dean climbed up onto the couch, and began tearing away at Castiel's clothes in a rabid frenzy as they rocked together, moaning and breathing into each other's mouths. Time passed in a daze as Dean crushed Castiel into a kiss, and shoved his leg between the boy's thighs to rub at his chubby cock. Castiel gasped and gripped onto the armrest behind him as Dean pulled his jeans down, and eyed the thin, pink pantie he had been wearing. Arousal throbbed in every inch of Dean's body as he pushed the pantie aside and sunk in two, thick fingers inside Castiel, feeling the tight flesh of his hole swallowing him deeper.
The sound of wet, slow squelching filled the air as Dean fingered Castiel, paired with the breathless and needy noises Castiel let out. Dean surged up to kiss Castiel, who gave in with no reluctance, letting Dean move and rock him as he pleased. They went at it that way for a while, simply making out, tongue on tongue, as Dean fingered Castiel to an orgasm. Castiel came loud and trembling, and staining Dean's shirt as he did.
They parted and lounged back against the couch to catch their breath. Dean studied Castiel— face glowing pink and glistening with sweat, his body loose and at ease, his raven-black hair an utter mess.
"Do you want to shower together?" Dean asked, testing the water cautiously between them. Castiel nodded, and sat up on the couch.
"But I don't have any spare clothes. I just took whatever Jack would need and ran away."
"Wear mine."
Silence filled the distance between them, until at last, Dean stood up and held his hand out for Castiel. Castiel sent Dean a small, tender smile, and accepted the hand. They ambled over to the tiny bathroom in the apartment, and Dean let the warm water wash over their naked bodies. Showering together was intimate— nothing Dean had ever done with anyone before, never. There was something oddly private and reserved about the way they showered together— kissing against the wall, massaging shampoo into each other's hair, smiling unexpectedly, and gliding their hands down each other's bodies. When they were done, Dean handed Castiel a towel to dry himself with, as well as a pair of night-clothes, just a plain old t-shirt and his old boxers.
The clothes were big on Castiel, but the way he waddled around in the over-flowing t-shirt was a heartwarming sight in itself, and Dean couldn't get enough of it.
Dean decided to make Castiel some pasta since he had some boiled pasta left over in the fridge. Castiel had no complaints. They lingered around each other in the kitchen for a while until the tiny shrieking of a child came tearing through the air, and Castiel disappeared into the bedroom to tend to Jack.
When he came back out, it was with Jack wide-awake in his arms, touching his face and babbling. Dean did not watch them, as much as he would like to since he had to concentrate on their dinner, but he could hear Castiel mumbling to Jack, and the sound of it had his heart beating a hundred times faster. There was something about the sheer normalcy of the situation that tugged at Dean— a normalcy he had never once witnessed in his life.
"…aren't you sleepy, baby, you've been playing the whole day with daddy, haven't you. You must be so tired, sweetheart."
Dean turned around for a minute, simply to watch Castiel, who bounced Jack on his shoulder. But what Dean had never seen coming was the sheer resemblance between Castiel and Dean— two pairs of startling, oceanic blue eyes stared at Dean, rooting him to the ground and making him weak in the knees. Jack had blonde hair, much like Lucifer, but his face was an uncanny mirror of Castiel's.
"Are you sure Jack isn't your child."
Castiel burst out laughing, as if Dean had said something absurd, and in truth, he had. Of course Jack couldn't be Castiel's child, but dear God, he was close enough.
"We get that a lot. It's the eyes."
"It's everything. Except for the hair."
Dean turned back to the sauce simmering on the stove, but he could feel Castiel move closer with the way his warmth enveloped Dean. Castiel stood next to Dean, rocking Jack against his chest as he glanced down at the sauce. "Smells good."
A tiny, chubby hand grabbed onto Dean's jaw, and rubbed at his face, causing him to snap his head to the side. Castiel jumped back, somewhat scared, as he turned to Jack and nudged his hand away. "Jack, no, don't do that, baby. That's not nice. Say sorry to Dean."
Dean felt something flutter inside his chest as he stared into Jack's deep, pale blue eyes that stared back with just as much determination.
"Dee." Jack babbled out, and blushed. He ducked his tiny head into his father's chest, and clutched at his shirt.
"Are you shy, buddy?" Dean asked, and tickled a small finger at Jack's stomach. Jack giggled, and reached out to hold Dean's face in his tiny, sausage hands.
"Dee." Jack squealed, and Dean couldn't help but his hold his hand out. There was something strange about the whole thing, but in that moment, Dean felt a streak of normalcy, as if he wasn't someone who thrived on blood and violence, as if that baby was someone Dean loved.
"Careful, Jack." Castiel whispered to the baby, who tried to reach into Dean's arms. Dean took him from Castiel, and held the tiny bundle of chub against his chest. Castiel smiled over at Jack from behind Dean's shoulder, and kissed Dean's neck with a small whisper of i'll finish cooking. Dean stared down at the baby babbling in his arms, touching his hair and his jaw, stroking him with its small fingers, and most of all, gazing up at Dean with its wide, princess-like blue eyes. There was so much hope, so much happiness and mirth in those eyes, and all because his father was working to his bone to keep it there.
"You're so tiny, kid." Dean mumbled as he wandered into the living room toward the window. "And so adorable. I bet your daddy loves you more than anything, doesn't he. Not that I blame him. You're just a sweetheart."
Jack mumbled out an incoherent string of noises, before ducking his head down against Dean's shoulder and drooling over his t-shirt.
Watching Jack, holding him, seeing him smile— it stirred inside Dean a feeling he had never known before, a feeling he never thought he would experience.
Before it got worse and he lost track of his mind, he carried Jack into the kitchen and handed him over to Castiel. Castiel moved aside, and Dean finished cooking their dinner in silence. Castiel laid Jack to sleep on Dean's bed. A while later, when he was serving out their dinner, Castiel came into the kitchen alone, relieved and exhausted.
"The kid just doesn't sleep, Jesus Christ. Oh, you're an angel Dean, this looks delicious." Castiel sighed, and pressed a fleeting kiss to Dean's jaw before pulling out a chair for himself. Dean grabbed them both some Budweiser's, and sat across Castiel.
"I'm anything but an angel, Cas."
"To me you are."
Dean stared down at Castiel, who was busy impaling pasta onto his fork and ravishing it into his mouth. Something inside him coiled at the thought that there could ever exist a moment in the tragic life of Dean Winchester where he would watch the man he 'loved' more than anything else in the world sit across him and have dinner with him. Whenever Dean had thought of life, it had been nothing but black and red, dull, violent, angry, sad, painful— but this, this moment was a moment he would reminisce when he bit the bullet at last.
They ate in silence. Castiel helped Dean wash and dry the dishes— in silence. Dean put out the light in the kitchen, and the guided Castiel into the small living room where they tumbled onto the couch together— weary and tired. Castiel, however, left for a brief moment and returned with two glasses of neat whiskey in his hand. Dean took it from him, and Castiel settled down next to Dean, leaning into his chest and throwing an arm around his stomach.
"You're quiet." Castiel observed. Dean let the word hang in the air between them for a second, before humming and gliding his hand down the side of Castiel.
"I'm tired," Dean said, hoping Castiel wouldn't pry deeper.
"You don't want to say it to me yet, I'm fine with that. I need you to know that I'm here, Dean, alright. I'm here, and I'll listen. I won't leave."
"You will. When things get messier, bloodier. You'll leave."
"Especially then, I won't leave. You're doing good in the world, and I'm proud of you for that."
They turned to face each other, and took a sip of their whiskey.
"Jack is a sweet kid." Dean mused, and avoided trying to respond to Castiel. Castiel, to his credit, respected Dean's dismissal, and went with the tide.
"He is. He is my whole life. Everything, anything I do, it's for him."
"My mom was the same. You're just like her."
Castiel was quiet. It was evident he wanted Dean to continue.
Dean downed his glass of whiskey in one-go, and jumped up to his feet, detangling his body from Castiel's as he slammed his glass down on the table, and reached for the bottle.
"Same old crap." He grit out. "My father was an asshole, beat my mom, stole money from her, raped her, drunk himself to death. And my mom was an angel, always working hard for us. She dropped out of high-school to marry my dirt-poor father, so all she could do was work as a cashier at some seven-eleven. She never made me or my brother feel like we were poor. We needed new clothes, she would buy them, needed new shoes cause some dickbag made fun of them, she would buy them. Never hurt a soul. But you know what, in a world where there is no God, the only one who listens to your prayers is the Devil, and he listens to the worst ones. So one night, dad came home piss-drunk. Beat the shit out of her. Made me watch. She died, and he set the house on fire. Piece of shit loafer couldn't even do that right, since he ended up burning himself. I got out. Only I got out. Sammy, mom, John, everyone died. So, anyways, cheers to tragic pasts huh."
Dean clinked his glass against Castiel's, who stared at him in a sort of controlled horror and—
"Don't. Don't look at me with that pity, Cas. Because if you do, I'll kill you right here on this couch and throw you out the window. So don't you dare look at me with pity in your eyes."
Castiel snapped his gaze down to the floor, and inched away from Dean, fidgeting with his shirt as tiny droplets of his tears fell down to the ground.
"I'm sorry."
"Everyone always is. But hey, you know what, I don't care. I'm glad mom is dead, because if she saw me today, she'd hate me. She'd hate that all I do is hurt people, that I can't love people and life the way she did. But you do, Cas. You love with everything you have, and I hate you for that, because it makes me want to change. You're everything I'm not— gentle, fragile, kind, compassionate, thoughtful.
"But that's not all I am. I'm much more. I'm impulsive, naive, I hold grudges, I'm passive aggressive, I do and say things I don't mean. I wish ill on some people." Castiel sighed, and leant back into the couch, shutting his eyes and gliding his fingertip around the rim of his glass.
"I know." Dean shrugged. "And I—"
"Don't care?"
"I accept."
Castiel let out a snort, and looked up at Dean with a strange smile. "You accept?"
"I accept you as you are." Dean nodded. They were quiet for a minute, until Castiel leaned into Dean's side to rest his head against his shoulder, hugging his stomach with his empty arm.
"That's new."
"Why? Isn't acceptance better than indifference?"
"I don't know." Castiel hummed.
"Indifference is vague. Acceptance is definite."
Silence crawled between the two of them as Castiel stared up at Dean. There was something so indescribable about being the centre of Castiel's attention. Dean leaned back into his couch, and dragged a finger down Castiel's young, youthful face. Castiel gave into the touch, and a small smile spread at his face.
"I'm glad you're here, Dean."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You know what, Cas." Dean whispered, and pressed a kiss to Castiel's lips. "I'm glad you're here too."
Castiel chased the kiss, trying to catch Dean who moved farther and farther away to tease Castiel. Castiel pouted, and climbed up onto Dean's lap, grabbing him by the chin and crashing their lips together. Dean bit down on his plump bottom lip, and heard Castiel let out the softest of a moan.
"That's cheating, Cas." Dean murmured, pulling Castiel's shirt off as they kissed.
"Everything's fair in love and war." Castiel chuckled under his breath, and Dean felt the sound of it thrum in his mouth as they made out.