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Cas knows what comes with the truth.
He’s seen it, every single time it comes to the surface. He’s felt it. And it sucks, it always does.
What he also knows, is that it will always find its way to the surface like water boiling, bubbling up to the exact moment where it can’t be contained anymore and it just begins spilling out of the kettle; and even though it hurts, and damn, does it hurt, it has to come out, it’s for the best.
Which is why he kind of agrees with the witch in front of them all, giving her heartfelt speech. A thing he’ll never let the Winchesters know, for sure.
That is, up until she casts her last spell before being shot to death by Jack. And then, just then, he gets a little glimpse of what goes on behind the steady and hard mask the kid puts on: a glimpse of fear, of confusion, of doubt, and, the one that hurts Cas the most, satisfaction; he quickly brings Jack close for a hug, which leaves him confused.
“Thanks, dad. I needed that.” And his voice sounds oh, so small, Cas swears he could cry then and there. Once they’re separated, he takes a look around.
Only that he doesn’t find something he really wants to see. He looks at Sam, and he looks just so old and tired and unsatisfied with himself Cas can’t bring himself to say something and just stares at the man. Before he can take a look at Dean, Jack whimpers by his side, bringing his hands to his right side, taking over his attention.
Dean clears his throat and muses something.
“I said let’s go back home,” Dean repeats the words and goes out, Sam hot on his heels, Cas and Jack following suit to get out of that creepy-looking house. Cas doesn’t say a thing about Dean’s choice of words, just sits shotgun when Sam grabs the injured kid and heads to the back of the Impala.
If Dean notices the way Cas avoids looking at the mirrors or at him he doesn’t say anything, and for that, Cas is more than grateful.
They make their way to the inside of the bunker, Dean taking over the duty of stitching Jack up, a worried look on his face while he mutters some swears and wonders how long will it take for Jack to feel better again.
And that’s new for him. Not that Cas isn’t happy about it, but that’s just so new, Dean not masking the fact that he cares for Jack’s wellbeing and not just about his abilities.
It makes Cas’ heart do things it shouldn’t.
Two days later, Sam sits down by his side, book on hand, and leans closer to Cas so he can read. The frown on Dean’s face and the muttering doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but he decides to ignore it in favor of whatever Sam’s showing him.
“Right, so, get this: I remembered a little bit of the things the witch said before she died and just couldn’t get them out of my mind, so…” he pauses to let Cas read, only for Dean to pop his head in between their close faces. Sam doesn’t look weirded out, just annoyed, as he continues. “It’s a truth spell. Like, like that chemical they use on criminals.”
“Or the potion wizards make at Hogwarts.” Dean interrupts cockily.
“Dude, shut up.” Sam looks at Dean deadpan, who just takes a big bite from his toast and turns his back to them.
“So, when’s this truth serum wearing off, Sammy? Can’t wait to be a lying bastard again.”
“Good morning, dads. I missed you when I went to bed.” Jack walks in, still sleepy, and holds onto Dean, hugging him tightly. Cas watches in interest as Dean’s features soften up and he returns the hug, even closing his eyes and letting Jack rub his face on his shoulder like a cat.
“Woah, look who woke up clingier than normal.” There’s no malice behind the man’s words, they’re even… fond. Cas blinks twice and before he can say a thing, Jack moves on to his next target: Sam. Sam who laughs and stands up and hugs Jack so tightly it breaks Cas’ heart that the man never got to experience having a kid of his own and hugging him like that. It probably breaks Sam too, because he soon gets teary-eyed before he lets the kid go.
Finally, Jack hugs Cas, and it has to be the best damn hug he’s had in, well, ever. Jack’s arms go around him, filling his heart with warmth, and the kid just buries his head on Cas’ shoulder as if Cas is a shield that will protect him from the horrible world that waits for them outside of their walls.
“Nothing will hurt you.” Cas finds himself saying this before he can even think about it, and he feels Jack’s smile. “I will promise you, with my life, I swear.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted you to be my dad.” Jack mutters, not bothering to move his face from Cas’ body. “That’s why I chose you over that fucker.” Cas chuckles, not even bothered by the used words.
When Jack finally decides to stop the hug, Dean is nowhere to be found. Sam is buttering a toast with his back to them, and the whole bunker is silent.
“Four weeks. Six weeks, at most. That’s what the spell will last, I mean.” Sam seems to notice when they separate and chooses this as the perfect moment to tell them. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I mean, if only I’ll tell Dean how much of a dickhead he is way more than before.” He shrugs, then turns around and waves them goodbye before returning to his room.
A week goes by, and if the three-year-old with a bunch of ideas coming out of his mind at a hundred and twenty miles per hour doesn’t drive him insane, Dean’s little mood swings will.
It seems like Dean doesn’t want him there anymore, like his presence annoys him and he just can’t stand being in the same room as the angel for more than thirty seconds before he just has to practically run out of there with a lame excuse. This, of course, leads to Cas spiraling and ending with the thought process of Dean not wanting him to be near him in the first place.
Which, in turn, led to Cas trying and mostly succeeding at restraining his feelings. Which turned into Cas telling Dean just how hurt he is by this, and Dean frantically apologizing and promising he won’t do it again and how much that’s not what he wants, only for him to do it again two days after.
It’s during week three that the water stops simmering and breaks into a boil.
Sam and Jack are gone for the day, with Jack insisting on spending time with each one of them individually because he wants to experience them being completely honest at its best.
Dean is sitting at the table when Cas walks in, his bee PJs still on because he’s way too worried about other things to change properly, and his mind somewhere else. He doesn’t even notice Dean is there up until the man gets up from his chair, the sound of wood against the floor taking him out from his train of thought.
Just as Dean is making his way out, Cas sighs, which freezes him in place.
“Can you tell me what did I do wrong?” Cas deadpans, his eyes locked on Dean’s back, and the way his muscles tense incredibly when he speaks. Wow, did he fuck up that badly for Dean to not even want to hear his voice?
“Why would you say that?”
“Because every single time I walk into a room you get out. Every single time I speak you tense and you turn away.” Cas takes a few steps forward, still giving Dean space. Dean uses said space to slowly turn around, still not meeting his eyes. “It’s like you don’t want me here anymore. Or, no, you know what? It’s like you never wanted me near you in the first place.”
Dean laughs. A bitter, broken laugh, but still doesn’t look at him. Cas wants to slap him, but he balls his hands into fists to keep himself from doing so.
“Oh, me? You go around doing all this shit to avoid me, you won’t look me in the face, you just… you don’t show a fucking emotion, you don’t feel a thing about me, about us, and you tell me that I don’t want you here?” Cas meets Dean’s eyes for the first time. Those green, beautiful eyes that make his heart do cartwheels and his stomach a knot, but they’re filled with anger, with sadness, with hurt…
With love.
“You’re the one hurting me, Dean. I stopped trying because whenever I open my mouth you hurt me.”
“If I hurt you then why, just tell me why, are you still here? Huh!? Tell me, for fuck’s sake, why you’re still here with us? With me?”
“Because I love you.” Yet again, Cas’ mouth acts quicker than his brain. He said it so quietly he hopes, prays, he didn’t hear him. But then again, Cas has the worse luck in the universe
Dean looks at him, flabbergasted, his eyes a sea of emotions he can’t quite make sense of, his whole body tense.
The air hangs around them warm and heavy, suffocating Cas and making him feel sick, making his feet itch with the urge to run and run and never stop.
That is, until Dean lifts his hand to rest it softly against his shoulder. It’s cold, but it brings Cas a sense of warmth he’s never felt before.
His eyes collide with Dean’s again, and, just like before, it’s a sea of emotions, but there’s one he can make out in the whole mess: love.
Stupid, unconditional, ineffable love.
He holds his ground as Dean gets closer and closer, his eyes flickering for a fraction of a second to his lips, still confused, still trying to process all of this.
Still in love with Dean Winchester, who’s still so incredibly him.
Cas won’t admit it, but he’s dreamt about what Dean’s lips feel like.
Nothing, absolutely nothing prepared the angel for the sight that was Dean closing his eyes as he’s at mere millimeters from his face, nothing prepared him for him closing his eyes a second after Dean, and absolutely fucking nothing prepared him for the feeling that is his lips colliding with Dean’s.
It’s like he’s being shattered into a million pieces and being put together again, it’s like the feeling of the warm sun on his skin, like the sound of the fire crackling next to him when he sits by the chimney with a book and a glass of whiskey.
No, that’s not right. Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to Dean’s rough but sweet, gentle yet tough, slow and burning kiss. Nothing will ever feel like Dean moving his lips as Cas tries to move his, still being awkward at this but trying his best.
And, fuck, nothing prepared him for the look Dean give him when they separate, Dean gasping for air, Cas trying to get his shit together. That look full of love, of dopey happiness, of pure glee, of just every single good thing in this crappy world.
“I know a kiss won’t solve it. And I know I’m a dickhead and that I sometimes treat you like shit and that you deserve someone better than me. But I’ll try, okay? You have my word on that.”
And so, for the next three weeks, they spend their days trying to understand each other and communicate as much as they can, which makes Jack incredibly happy and Sam annoyed but joyful.
Up until Dean walks up to Sam when he, Jack, and Kevin are watching a movie.
“What the fuck.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Kevin opens his eyes so widely they could pop out, and drags Jack to the kitchen so they get out of any possible physical damage.
“Well, hello to you too. You know, you could try to be less of a-"
“Shush, I don’t care. I want to know why did you never tell me or Cas that the spell wore off two weeks ago.” Sam snorts but regains his composure.
“Because, brother, you needed the free therapy it gave you.” He pats Dean on the shoulder, then gets up and makes his way to the kitchen where he finds Kevin and Jack trying to put pop tarts on the toaster and failing miserably.
Sam won’t ever, ever tell any of them that it actually wore off the day they solved their problems.