Archive of Our Own ^beta

May light sweeten in your lungs / may your tongue shine /  May you be grateful to your body / for the offenses it forgives you / may your body please you / may your mind accept its forms / and guide you among dangers and pleasures / May you love yourself as you are loved 

-song of benediction

Dean had always hated looking in the mirror. Not in the sense that he didn’t like how he looked, he looked fine (well, more than just fine). It wasn’t so much what he saw when he looked but who he saw. When he saw himself he didn’t see much else except the things he had killed and the people he had failed to save and how he failed the people that had saved him. To be blatantly honest (which for a while he seldom ever was with himself), he thought he was unlovable. That he was nothing. 

Daddy’s blunt little instrument. 

It’s all he had ever known because it’s all he was ever shown. He was only as good as his last kill. His worth came from his ability to take care of Sam. He existed to take care of others. And Dean had been okay with that, or at least he thought he had been.

Everything changed for Dean when he met Castiel. And everything changed again with the love that came from knowing him. 

The thing about love and Castiel is that the two were infuriatingly and intrinsically tied. Being in love with Cas caused things to grow and shift in his chest, it made Dean realize that maybe he was more than nothing. Maybe he was more than who his father forced him to be. 

Cas was kind and selfless and loyal and snarky and a pain in the ass first thing in the morning and so easy to love and be loved by it made Dean feel like his chest could house more than broken parts. And it may have taken him a while, but eventually (and with a lot of help from Dean’s angel-mine), he’d realized that maybe if Cas was Cas, and Cas loved him, maybe he wasn’t as terrible as he had always believed himself to be. Because someone like Cas wouldn’t be with someone like him if he was worthless. He came to believe that good things do happen, that he deserves good things. He learned that he is worthy and deserving of love. 

That had been an uphill battle. Dean had never realized just how deeply ingrained his self-hatred ran or how appallingly low his self-esteem was until he was in a healthy relationship and learning not only how to acknowledge the things that made him hurt, but how to talk about those things, that it was okay for him to talk about those things. It didn’t make him any less of a man. He deserves the little life he’s built with Cas. 

The first knock-down-drag-out fight between him and Cas was the direct result of his self-hatred, actually. They’d only been them (well the new them which was a lot  like the old them except Dean didn’t feel as guilty for his glances and sometimes they had sex) for a couple of months. He doesn’t even remember exactly what started it, probably his insecurity. Maybe his fear that the rug was going to be pulled out from under him and the couple of months he’d spent with Cas would be the only couple of months they got. Whatever the reason was, it made him act like a total dick. His knee-jerk reaction was still to try and drive people away before they got tired of him and left on their own. It still hurts but at least then he gets to control the hurt. Cas had responded to Dean’s abhorrent behavior by calling him out on it, which resulted in an argument, which then resulted in Cas yelling that he didn’t know what Dean’s problem was or why he was acting the way he was. 

In a fit of fury towards himself for not being good enough, never being enough, Dean had screamed at Cas that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop because people like Cas don’t involve themselves with people like him and he’s waiting for him to leave. His problem was that everyone always leaves him. He was acting that way because he was scared to lose Cas, because Cas was a good thing. The best thing. And good things never stay good for him. 

All of those feelings had been building and smoldering in Dean’s chest and in his head until that very moment when the pressure became too much and he had no other option but to let it erupt forth from his lips, regardless of how much it hurt and burned, regardless of Cas being a caught in it, too. 

The anger had drained out of Cas so quickly it was like a switch had flipped. The abrupt change in atmosphere left Dean reeling.

They’d been standing at opposite sides of the room during their little screaming match but after Dean’s admission, Cas had crossed to room in a few long strides to stand in front of Dean. And Dean’s first instinct had been to hide, to curl up into himself, to protect what was left of his secondhand heart, and he was preparing to do just that but to his immense surprise Cas had placed a gentle hand on his cheek. Dean leaned into it before he knew what he was doing. Comforting touches were still a bit unfamiliar to him, but that didn’t stop his body from craving them all the same. 

“Would you like to sit?” Cas had asked in a voice that was so gentle it made Dean’s throat burn with the tears that always seemed to be laying in wait, just under the surface. 

“Why? So you can let me down gently?” The last word hurt. He was being a dick and he knew it, but he didn’t know how to be anything else, not when he was exposed like this. Not when he was sure he’s about to get his heart ripped out of his chest.

“No, there’s nothing to let down. There are sitting conversations and there are standing conversations. This is a sitting conversation, so will you please sit? For me?” 

And of-fucking-course Cas had already figured out the magic words. 

For me. 

Dean would do anything, everything for Cas, and the snarky bastard knows it. All he had to do was ask. Sometimes he didn’t even have to do that. 

Cas leads them to the couch, Dean goes to put a respectable distance between them because he’s still kinda worried Cas is pissed at him or because of his general insecurity, but Cas has laced their fingers together and isn’t letting Dean stray any further than flush against his side. 

Neither of them spoke for a moment, the quiet made Dean’s stomach churn and his brain swim. He detests silence, it makes everything in his brain so much louder. Cas is the one to break through the wall that quietness had built in the span of a few breaths. 

“You make me very sad sometimes.” And Cas sounds sad when he says it. It’s like a bat to the face and a punch to the gut for Dean because it’s his fault Cas is upset. It’s always his fault. 

“I can already see you overthinking, you misunderstand me. Whatever path your thoughts are trying to sprint down at full speed is wrong. You make me sad sometimes because you have such a low opinion of yourself. Because you’re constantly hurting and you don’t know how to ask for help, you don’t think you deserve to ask for help. I care about you an immeasurable amount, so it makes me sad that you’re hurting, that you have such a distorted view of yourself, that your view of yourself causes so much of your hurt.”

Had it been anyone other than Cas saying this (and Dean’s including Sam in that statement), he would have decked them on principle. Instead, he just hangs his head in shame. 

“Back when I was an angel, when I commanded garrisons, carried out my holy and righteous missions, do you know how they used to speak of me- when they were talking about how useful I was? They said I was loyal, that I was obedient, never a toe out of line, so you must imagine the magnitude of my rebelling. I like to think I’m still loyal, sometimes to a fault, admittedly. My obedience, however, is a different story. Do you know the moment my superiors said I ‘fell off the wagon,’ so to speak?”

Dean swallows. He shakes his head the tiniest amount, scared of the answer but needing to know anyway. 

“The moment I first touched you. They’d always said I had a bit too much heart, that it was a problem. They had no idea how deep that problem ran, apparently.”

Dean isn’t seeing how this is supposed to make him feel better, it’s just confirming what he already knows. That he ruins everything he touches. Destroys everything that touches him.  

“I took one look at you, your soul- one single touch was all it took. Everything I have done since the moment we first converged has been for you and because of you. You are in everything I touch.” Cas stops speaking to meet Dean’s eyes and Dean stops breathing when he sees what can only be described as adoration in them. Cas is looking right at him and in him and through him when he starts speaking again.

“I’d never put much stock into the human idea of soulmates until you. You are my soulmate, not in that we are intended for one another, but because against fate our souls became so tangled and tied that they formed one and now cannot be separated. There is no me without you. We are soulmates because if it were not for you I wouldn’t have a soul at all. I would fall for you in every life, in every timeline, in every universe, Dean. That’s why you make me sad. I can see you, all of you, clear as day, but for some reason when you look in the mirror, you don’t see the person I do.” 

Okay how the fuck is Dean supposed to respond to that? Cas just poured his damn heart out and Dean is so emotionally stunted all he can do is let his mouth hang open, waiting for the right words to magically fall out. 

The only word that falls from his muddled lips is “Cas.” A single syllable, what’s in a name, anyway? 

Everything.

If only he could find a way to tell the man next to him about the everything in his head and his heart. 

Cas seems to understand, because he always understands, and responds not with words but by bringing the Dean’s still tethered hand to his mouth and placing a kiss to the back of it before dropping both back into his lap. 

“You do know I’m not going to leave, don’t you? And that every time I have left it’s not been by choice? There isn’t a single version of my future that does not involve you. I’m yours. However you’ll have me, I’m yours.” Cas tells him. 

And Dean wants to believe him, wants to so fucking bad but he just can’t. He can’t because if he does believe Cas it’ll hurt that much worse when he does get tired of Dean’s bullshit and leaves. Dean won’t even blame him when he does. 

“You don’t believe me.” The sad look is back full force on Cas’ face. 

Dean has to look away. 

“Well. I suppose I’ll just have to make you.” 

This makes Dean’s gaze snap back to Cas’ face. He looks earnest. He always looks earnest. Lots of qualities grant themselves in abundance to Cas. Earnestness. Loyalty. Diligenence. Cas. 

“Make me? How the hell are you gonna make me?” Dean sputters (although he’ll never admit that’s what it was). 

Cas just hums and offers a smarmy smirk and there it is again, that swooping sensation that starts in his stomach and ends somewhere around his feet. Butterflies, he thinks, Cas gives me butterflies. 

Even though Cas cannot hear his thoughts, heat rises to Dean’s cheeks like he can.

Undoubtedly sensing that Dean was near the end of his rope, Cas mercifully changes the subject. “Do you want to watch something from The List?” 

The List was exactly what it sounded like. A list. But more specifically it was a list of movies and shows that were important to Dean for some reason or another that Cas had not seen. Dean recognizes that Cas is giving him an out. He’s so thankful he wants to kiss him. Then he remembers can, he’s allowed to do that now, so he places a chaste kiss on Cas’ cheek and hopes that it gets his message across. 

It was some weeks later and Dean was at his wits end in the garden center. He had to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for Cas and that in return Cas would be happy and Dean might get one of those rare and radiant toothy smiles from Cas, the one he saves for splendid things (Cas’ words for any number of the things he marvels at, not Dean’s) and that alone would be worth it. 

The entire reason he was standing in front of three dozen plants that all looked the exact same but were apparently different was because Cas had taken a liking to the farmer’s market. More specifically, Cas’d taken a liking to all the plants being sold at the farmer’s market. He was enamored with them, fascinated with the concept of growing a new life form. Something about the possibility of creating without causing harm. Creating beauty for the sake of creating beauty because to Cas, every single plant was beautiful. 

“Dean, look at this one. Look at the leaves, they’re coming from the same stalk but they’re all different. How lovely. It reminds me of humanity.”

And then Cas had looked up at him with such honest to God wonder in his eyes that it made Dean’s heart swell so much in his chest it pushed the air out of his lungs. He wanted to do whatever it took to keep that look on Cas’ face. 

So here he is, trying to keep himself from getting completely overwhelmed in aisle five so he can get Cas the garden he obviously wants but hasn’t thought to ask for. 

“Can I help you find something, sir?” 

Oh thank God.

The associate is a wisp of a girl. Gentle smile and big eyes. 

“Uh, yeah. My um, my-” And shit this is the first time Dean’s had to talk about Cas with someone who doesn’t already know who he is. What he is to Dean. What the hell is he supposed to call him? Words like boyfriend and partner don’t really feel adequate. They don’t exactly cover the depth of what Cas it to him, intrinsically tied and whatnot. 

“My other-half.” Dean settles on, because that kinda covers it and he doesn’t have time to explain the whole “angel who pulled me out of hell and rebuilt my soul” thing to someone who probably doesn’t get paid much more than minimum wage. “He’s been spending a lot of time looking at the plants at the farmer’s market. He’s just fascinated by ‘em, really- so I bought a whole bunch of wood to make him some raised garden beds to go on our roof. That way he can have a little garden of his own, but I don’t know what the hell to put in them.” 

The girl, Max according to the name tag on her shirt, smiles at him and asks, “Do you know what kind of plants he likes?” 

This makes him laugh because Cas likes all of them and he tells her as much. Dean can tell she’s about to ask a myriad of questions he doesn’t have the answers to so he intervenes before they both end up as frustrated as he’d been a few minutes ago. “How about this? I give you free reign and you pick out whatever you think would be good for someone just starting out. Saves us both a lotta time and effort.” 

Max’s eyes go wide as she lights up with excitement. There’s something so Cas about her brightness that it makes fondness well up in his chest. If this whole gardening thing goes well (and he thinks it’s going to), Dean feels like he’s gonna get to know Max pretty well. 

She turns on her heel and starts walking the opposite direction, only making it a few steps before stopping to cast a glance over her shoulder.

“What’s your budget?”

“For him? Anything.” 

Dean fully didn’t mean to say that out loud, but oh well . For once in his life he can make grand gestures for the ones he loves. He’s allowed to be a little sappy, especially for Cas. 

He needs to thank Charlie again for the magic credit cards. He needs to just give her a call anyway, it’s been too long. 

Max goes all soft around the eyes and Dean rolls his in response. 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Whipped or whatever.” 

“What’s his name?” Max asks, voice soft.

“Cas.” And Dean can’t help but smile when he says it. This is the first time he’s ever gotten to tell someone about Cas and it feels nice. It feels normal. Dean isn’t the guy who sold his soul to save his brother, isn’t the guy who was pulled from perdition by an angel of the lord so that he could be used for cosmic pissing contests. To Max, he’s the guy shopping for plants for his significant other. To Max, he’s just Dean. And just Dean is a guy who gets to tell sales associates about Cas. 

“Seems like Cas is pretty lucky. We don’t get too many people like you in here.” 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, giving himself a mental pat on the back for not immediately getting defensive. Growth or whatever. 

“Most of the time, the people that come here on behalf of their significant others are here because they were asked to. It’s a chore or an errand. Does Cas know you're here?”

Dean shakes his head. He still feels guilty about the white lie he’d told Cas so he could take his truck but leave him at the bunker. He’d worked out a plan with Sam (after Sam had shown some very on-brand brotherly behavior about the whole thing) so that Cas would be gone when he got back. That way he’d be able to sneak up to the roof and get everything set up. 

“You’re here to make him happy. Not to keep him happy. Like I said, he seems like a lucky guy.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m the lucky one.” And Dean looks away because he can feel himself starting to get emotional. Being with Cas has turned him soft. Or maybe made him realize he’s allowed to be soft. Semantics. 

Dean wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his dirt covered hand. He checks his watch. Cas and Sam should be home any minute now and Dean is scared shitless. What if he fucked this all up somehow or what if Cas hates how Dean set everything up or what if Cas doesn’t actually like plants and Dean just made that up somehow and what if what if what if? 

He takes another look around, eyes scanning for anything out of place. He uses his foot to nudge one of the potted plants over a fraction of an inch, just to give himself something to do. 

He closes his eyes and tries to do the ‘square breathing’ thing Cas had taught him a few weeks ago after a particularly bad bout of anxiety. It kinda helps, even if Dean doesn’t wanna admit it. 

The phone in his back pocket buzzes and Dean wipes his hands off on his jeans before pulling it out. It’s a message from Sam reading, the eagle has landed and it’s so stupid and so Sam that he can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him. He almost wants to chicken out. Cancel the whole thing. Text Sam and tell him to distract Cas while he removes an entire day of work. 

Before he can do anything too drastic, the seldom used roof door opens and Cas is talking before he’s even all the way through. “I’ve missed you today. Apparently Sam really needed my help specifically with-” he freezes when he sees exactly what he missed. 

“Surprise.” Dean offers, voice quiet and smile nervous. 

Cas is scanning everything around him with narrowed eyes and Dean watches his gaze shift from the garden boxes to the bags of fertilizer to the various planters to the plethora of plants Max had gleefully picked out (she’d even written down her number to pass on to Cas in case he had any questions about anything) until they finally land on Dean. 

“What-” And Cas clears his throat before continuing, “Dean, what is all this?” 

“It’s a garden. Well, the start of one.” Dean answers him sheepishly. 

“A garden.” Cas repeats, giving Dean a look that makes him want to hide. Makes him feel like a child that is peaking out from behind his mother’s legs. 

“Yeah, uh. I noticed that you’ve taken a shine to all the plants at the farmer’s market and you kept on saying that we needed to use the roof for something and you’ve been watching all those nature documentaries about bees and saying that you wished we had more pollinator friendly foliage ‘round here so I just thought- I just thought you’d like some plants. Maybe try your hand at gardening. You keep on telling me you want to find a hobby now that we’re not really hunting anymore and gardening is, ya know, a hobby.”

Cas is still just silently staring at him. It’s making Dean even more nervous.

“I know you haven’t said anything about it but you always look so curious when we pass nurseries and you get so damn excited at the farmer’s market and I gotta give it to you man, you’re really cute when you’re excited and-” Dean’s rambling is promptly cut off when Cas finally unfreezes and closes the entirely too wide short distance between them and kisses him soundly. Cas’ hands are on either side of Dean’s face. It makes him feel warm in ways he thinks aren’t just from the contact. 

They’re both a bit breathless when they break apart and those butterflies have made a reappearance in Dean’s stomach. 

“You built me a garden?” Cas questions, sounding a bit like he’s in disbelief. Like his brain has yet to catch up with his eyes. 

Dean nods. 

“You built me a garden.” This time it’s not a question. 

“I mean, Max did most of the hard work. I just slapped some 2x4’s together and filled ‘em up with dirt.” Dean’s still a bit uncomfortable with praise. He’s getting better, especially when it comes to Cas, but his first instinct is still very much to just brush it off. 

“Who’s Max?” Cas asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“The girl who works at the garden center. I was a bit in over my head so I kinda let her go buck wild on what plants to get you. She said they were all beginner-friendly, though. I didn’t even know there were advanced plants.” 

Cas lets out a laugh that’s more air than anything else before a gentle silence settles over them. They sit in the same moment for a beat, then another, before Cas speaks again. 

“You noticed.” His voice is quiet in a way that makes Dean think he wasn’t meant to hear. Cas’ eyes are glassy, he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to see. It doesn’t matter. It makes emotion well up in Dean’s throat all the same. 

How long had Cas’ subtleties and intricacies been deemed unnecessary or uninteresting? How could anyone spend any amount of time with Cas and not think he was the single most captivating entity in any vicinity? 

“Hey now, give me some credit. Of course I noticed, man. S’hard not to.” 

Cas averts his gaze, looking abashed.

“Besides, I notice everything about you.” Dean tells him gently, knocking his shoulder against Cas, trying to diffuse some of the whatever it is that’s rapidly building between them. 

Dean loves him.

He doesn’t know why it’s just now hitting him. He thinks he’s always loved him. This has just been the first time where they’ve been world-ending-threat free long enough for Dean’s brain to have the free space (and the emotional capacity) to think about once dangerous things like love and happiness.

Surely a freak out over this revelation will happen eventually but for right now, everything feels so right and Cas looks so awe filled at his surroundings, Dean just doesn’t have it in him to flip his shit. 

Dean’s in love with Cas and it gets filed away with other earth-rattling revelations like ‘fork found in kitchen’ and ‘sky is blue.’

“Thank you.” Cas tells him in a voice so tender it’s a miracle Dean doesn’t melt. 

“Course.” Dean answers, leaning forward to press his lips to Cas’ forehead (something he enjoys doing greatly but would never admit to), “Now stop standing here ogling me and start ogling everything else. Oh, and if you don’t like any of what you got Max said we could trade it out no problem.” 

“Dean?” Cas asks, still not shifting his attention from his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“This is- you did all this for me?” He still sounds like he’s in disbelief. 

Why does he seem so surprised? 

“Course I did it for you. You- it was the least I could do. You deserve it all, Cas. Now go on, appreciate my handiwork.” Dean says with a whole lot of bravado as he knocks his shoulder into Cas again. Cas laughs in return, albeit a little wetly, but Dean thinks it’s one of those happy-tears kinda things- he hopes it is at least. 

“Alright. Show me my garden.” And Cas is wearing that toothy smile Dean had been secretly hoping for. 

A thought settles gently in Dean’s brain. Maybe I am able to create instead of destroy. Maybe I can create beauty, too. 

It’s roughly a month later when Dean wakes up and immediately notices that he feels off-kilter. Most people would probably say Dean was feeling that way because he’s sick, but Dean wasn’t sick. He doesn’t get sick.

The last time he’d been sick was when he had pneumonia when he was fifteen. John had been gone for a couple of weeks at that point. Sam had called Bobby in a panic when Dean continued to get worse and John continued to not answer their calls. Bobby had driven the ten hours between them to take Dean to the hospital because even then Sam knew better than to call an ambulance. Bobby’d also sat a mostly-silent vigil at Dean’s bedside for the three days that he was there. He’d also stood up to their father when he finally (another two and a half weeks after Dean got out of the hospital) came back and found the boys at Bobby’s instead of the motel that he’d left them at. 

Their dad and Bobby had a huge fight. Dean still doesn’t know what was said. The boys started seeing more of Bobby and less of John after that. 

Regardless, Dean hasn’t been sick since then so he had no reason to believe he was sick now. Having a cough doesn’t mean you’re sick. Same goes for a runny nose or a sore throat. Those could all be symptoms of allergies, anyway. That’s probably what it was because Dean simply does not get sick. 

But then the vomiting started and Cas seemed to be thoroughly convinced that Dean was sick. Dean still wasn’t so sure. Like yeah, maybe he didn’t feel great and maybe his entire body hurt and he was bone tired and he kept on getting chills, but that didn’t mean he was sick, it could have meant anything. 

Cas had noticed first thing that morning that Dean wasn’t feeling up to snuff (because Cas seems to notice every single thing about him), but Dean had ignored his gentle suggestions about going back to bed to rest all day. The first time Cas had suggested it was roughly forty-five minutes after they’d woken up and Dean’s still not very good at remaining still.

Once he made it back from his almost disastrous trip to the bathroom Cas had stood in his path, arms crossed and face stern. “Bed. Now.” 

He didn’t think he was going to be able to ignore Cas’ suggestions any longer because they weren’t exactly suggestions anymore. 

Dean insisted that he was fine, but Cas wouldn’t even hear him out, the bastard. Sure, he felt kinda like he was underwater and that his entire body was made of lead, but other than that he was just fine.

But when Dean had tried to tell him that again once they were already in the bedroom, Cas had just cocked a single brow and said “Dean,” in a voice that brokered absolutely no arguments and okay maybe that was for the best because Dean was too tired to argue right now (not because he was sick, he still wasn’t sleeping very well because of trauma or whatever Cas calls it). 

Once in bed (maybe it’s a little easier to exist now that he’s horizontal), Cas places a cool hand (which Dean registered as strange because Cas always had incredibly warm hands) on his forehead.

“You’re burning up.” Cas murmurs, brow furrowed as he begins looking around the room for some unknown thing. 

“No I’m not.” Dean counters in a tone that can only be described as petulant. 

Cas doesn’t even bother responding, just stands and heads out of their room (it used to be just Dean’s room, it still is technically speaking, just like technically Cas still has his own room even if he hasn’t slept in there in months and all of his clothes have migrated into Dean’s closet). 

His gut twists painfully and he doesn’t think it’s because of nausea. Dean’s immediately worried that he’s said or done something to drive Cas away. He knows he can be a stubborn asshole and that makes him hard to deal with sometimes, but he’s been trying to get better because he likes having Cas around (more than likes, needs to have Cas around) and he doesn’t want to jeopardize that with the survival instincts he no longer needs. Before his anxiety has a chance to turn into full blown panic, Cas has returned with what appears to be everything one could find in an infirmary and then some. 

One of the items he’s brought back with him is a thermometer, which he wordlessly holds out to Dean who opens his mouth, letting Cas place it under his tongue with no resistance or insistence that he can do it himself. (He’s not secure enough to admit it just yet, but he kinda really likes it when Cas gets bossy like this. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to examine that too closely). 

It beeps, prompting Cas to pull it out. He looks at the display screen with a frown before saying (mainly to himself, Dean thinks), “That’s what I was afraid of.” 

“What is it?” Dean questions, shifting around because he can’t seem to find a comfortable position. 

“101.3.” 

“That’s not bad.” And to Dean, it’s not. Comparatively. He’s definitely had far worse than a fever. 

Cas offers a level stare in return. “It’s too late today, but I’ll take you to the urgent care in town tomorrow.” 

“I don’t need to go to a doctor. I’m fine.” 

“I’ve seen you use whisky and superglue in lieu of getting stitches. You must understand that I don’t exactly trust your medical expertise.” 

“Asshole.” Dean says, but there’s no malice in it. 

“It’s been established, yes. When was the last time you went to a doctor, anyway?” And there’s a look in Cas’ eyes that Dean knows means Cas is gonna get his way. 

“I dunno. Whenever Alistair fucked me up real good that one time?” 

Cas’ face falls and his gaze drops to his shoes. 

“Something that should have never happened, I’m sorry.” 

Dean waves him off (when did his limbs get so heavy?), “Whatever man. Sometimes demons get the jump on you. Happens.” 

“Regardless. You got hurt when it was entirely preventable and I’m sorry.” 

The moment stretches between them, turning into something Dean doesn’t exactly have a name for but has felt more than once. 

Cas is looking at Dean when he speaks again, “Let me rephrase my question, when was the last time you went in for a regular checkup?” 

Dean goes to answer him but just ends up letting his mouth hang open because he doesn’t have an answer for him. Well, he does have an answer, the answer is just never. 

A tightlipped smile is given in return. “That’s what I thought. I’ll take you first thing in the morning.” 

“You really don’t have to. I’m sure I can just sleep this off. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.” Dean says, and he’d probably sound more convincing if he didn’t have a coughing fit when he finished speaking.

“Doubtful.” Cas sighs before continuing, “You know, you would be ‘right as rain’ a lot faster if you let someone take care of you. Someone like a doctor.” 

Dean’s stomach drops at the thought. He reaches out a hand and places it on Cas’ forearm, making him look at where they’re connected before shifting his attention to Dean’s face. Dean can see the silent question being asked with a slight tilt of Cas’ head.

“Look, I’ll let you do whatever you want and I’ll take whatever you think I need to take. Just- please. Cas, please no doctors, man. I-” Come on Winchester, be a man, use your words. Dean decides to poke at the be a man mentality being the reason he has such a hard time with words and feelings and existing a little later, when it’s easier for him to think, when he doesn’t feel like he’s swimming. 

“I- I don’t like doctors, not the real ones, at least. The only time I’ve ever seen them is when I’m dying or someone I love is. So please. Just- just let me get over whatever this is, if there’s even anything for me to get over, the old-fashioned way.” 

Cas’ face softens in the way it always does when Dean talks about his feelings, when he manages to triumph over the thing that robs him of his voice (which is happening a little more frequently as of late). 

“You’ll do whatever I tell you? Take whatever I tell you to take? You’ll let me take care of you? All with minimal complaining?”  

Oh. 

That’s what this is about. Dean remembers a conversation he had with Cas some time ago, about how Dean always had to take care of others, how he himself never got to be taken care of. Never really had anyone to take care of him. Dean had shrugged him off at the time, just thought it was Cas making another observation about his shitty childhood.

Another memory, another conversation, one that makes something heavy settle over Dean’s body for a moment. 

Cas needs to feel useful. 

“Yeah, man. I’ll let you take care of me.” Dean answers, voice soft. 

“It may even be fun. Just think of me as your own personal Dr. Sexy.” And the statement from Cas is accompanied by such an exaggerated wink it makes Dean laugh, which quickly turns into a coughing fit. 

It is not fun. 

That’s not Cas’ fault, though. Cas, as it turns out, is an excellent caretaker. It’s the being sick part that isn’t any fun. At this point Dean is willing to admit that there’s a chance he may actually be sick because there’s not another explanation (barring death, maybe) as to why he feels like shit twice warmed over. 

After turning himself over to Cas’ mercy, Dean had been given a handful of pills that Cas said would ‘help’ and help they did. You can’t hack up a lung if you’re in a fucking coma, apparently. Dean had drifted off shortly after being given the medicine and when he woke again he was sweaty, confused, and about seven seconds from hurling. 

He sits up with a jolt that makes his head spin and his spinning head makes freeing his legs from where the damp sheets are twisted around them all the more difficult. He’s still struggling when Cas places what Dean’s almost positive is the little plastic trash bin that usually lives in the bathroom in front of him. The guy really has impeccable timing because about three seconds after that Dean vomits. 

Cas seems completely unphased as he rubs Dean’s back and murmurs what would be comforting words in any other circumstance but there’s not much words can do when your body is violently revolting against you. 

Once everything’s said and done and the contents of his stomach have been thoroughly removed, Dean’s feeling a lot worse for wear. Cas hands him a glass of water and watches with concerned eyes as he takes small sips. 

Something heavy settles in Dean’s stomach, he recognizes the feeling pretty quickly. 

Guilt. 

Dean’s certain that Cas had planned other ways to spend his evening and now he’s stuck here, taking care of him.

“Sorry, man.” Dean offers without meeting Cas’ still watchful gaze. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“I dunno. For being gross, I guess.” And you know, everything else. 

“I spent a modern plumbing-less year in purgatory, I can handle a little vomit. What is it they say? Through sickness and in health?” Cas offers a wry smile as he removes the bin from in front of Dean, placing a quick kiss on the crown of his head as he stands, “I’ll dump this and be right back.” 

Dean nods weakly, closing his eyes and settling back into bed. 

Cas has been gone all of a minute when what he said finally clicks in Dean’s drug-addled brain and his eyes fly open. 

Through sickness and in health. 

Alarm bells that sound awful matrimonial in tune start ringing in his head. 

Does Cas realize what he said? Of course he realizes what he said, but does he understand the implications of what he’s said? He’s got a bit to go in the whole ‘being human’ department and his misuse or misunderstanding of an idiom or turn of phrase is still a fairly common occurrence. 

He’s so busy trying to work out whether or not Cas is familiar with wedding vows, it takes Dean a moment to realize he’s not feeling as panicked as he probably should, like he normally would over something like this. He thinks about it. The prospect of spending forever with someone is objectively terrifying but it's Cas he’s thinking about. If he’s being honest with himself (which he’s managing with far less difficulty these days), he never imagined a future for himself and now that he’s able to, he can’t imagine that future not having Cas in it. This revelation doesn’t shock him like it would have a year ago. 

It’s always been Cas, hasn’t it? 

He should probably think about this more in depth once he’s of sound mind. He never pictured himself as the marrying type, never really thought he’d be alive long enough to even get the chance, but now there’s an entire world of possibilities open to him that weren’t before. He doesn’t even know if Cas is the getting married type. 

Cas chooses to make his reappearance then, interrupting Dean’s train of thought. He tucks the entire thing away for the time being. 

“How are you feeling?” Cas questions, placing the back of his hand against Dean’s forehead before frowning. Dean must still feel too warm for his liking. 

“I’m great, man. Really. Never better.” 

“Have you ever found a situation in which sarcasm has actually benefited you in some way?” Cas removes his hand as he goes to sit next to Dean. He moves the comforter a fraction of an inch higher before sliding his eyes to Dean’s face, mirth evident in every feature. 

“Shuddup.” 

“Gladly, once you take these.” And Cas is placing several different pills in his hand. 

“What’s all this?” Dean can’t remember the last time he took anything other than acetaminophen, and that was seldom to never. He typically just knuckled through any pain. You know, like a man.  

“They’re for your head, stomach, chest, sinuses, and to help you sleep. Respectively.” 

“Respectively.” Dean parrots back, eyeing the pills dubiously. He didn’t even know they made medicine for all of that. 

“Either you take this or I take you to the doctor. Your choice.” 

Dean glares at him in response but pops the meds in his mouth all the same. They taste awful. Cas hands him a glass of orange juice to wash them all down and Dean didn’t realize how thirsty he was because he ends up chugging the whole thing. 

“Careful, drinking too quickly when you’re dehydrated can make you sick.” 

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” 

Cas rolls his eyes as he takes the empty glass and places it on the bedside table before turning his attention back to Dean, “Did it help this time? Do you feel benefitted?”

And now it’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. Out of all the human mannerisms that Cas has a mastery of, snark is the one he’s most proficient at. 

“I’m just trying to save you from an even worse fate. I don’t think you want it coming out of both ends right now.” 

“Touché. How do you know all this stuff, anyway? You been considering a career in nursing?” 

Cas’ face slips from annoyed to fond, “I like caring for you specifically, I don’t think I have the social skills required for that particular profession, I’m told bedside manner is rather important. I do, however, have the skills to read about it. And as Sam has told me multiple times, there’s a world of information at my fingertips, including how to tend to the sick.” He takes a moment to card his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Is there anything else you need?” 

“A new body?” Dean suggests, only half joking as he settles back into bed. 

“If I was still an angel I could heal you in an instant. No new body required.” And Cas sounds unbearably sad as he says it. Dean feels a sharp pang in his chest. Cas is hurting and he wants to be able to offer the words that’ll give Cas the reassurance he needs, but every time he tries the words don’t come out the way he wants them to. He tries again, anyway. 

“None of that, man. Human Cas is just as good as angel Cas. Think I might like human Cas a little better, actually. No dick relatives using me as a chess piece.” 

Cas snorts (Dean thinks it’s a terribly cute trait, but he doesn’t think Cas is aware most people are embarrassed by it) before saying “I suppose that is a benefit.” 

Dean hums in acknowledgement, a bit of that earlier guilt still lingering low in his stomach, he’s not even sure what he’s feeling guilty about. Maybe it’s because Cas is here and he still has a tendency to feel a little guilty when it comes to Cas and the events that have transpired since he was first pulled from the pit. Maybe it’s just his default setting. “You don’t have to hang out with me, I know I’m not the best company at the moment.”

“I know I don’t. I’d rather be where you are, regardless of your companionship abilities.” Cas answers him with a soft smile. 

Let me take care of you.  

Dean wonders if that has anything to do with Cas’ newly human status, in his need to feel useful. He’d been correct earlier, Dean could be right as rain again in an instant if Cas still had his mojo, but in turn, Dean had meant what he said about liking human Cas just a little better. It’s for entirely selfish reasons, too. Human Cas gets to eat the food that Dean makes him and gets to sleep in Dean’s bed with him and Dean gets to be the one to show him movies and books and music, gets to be the one who sees Cas’ face light up when he discovers something he likes. Dean really likes being the one to help Cas navigate humanity. It makes him feel special. Cas could go to literally anyone with any of the questions he has, but always defaults to Dean. He goes so far as waiting to ask whatever question has popped into his head if Dean isn’t around to answer it but Sam is. 

He knows Cas misses being an angel, even if he never says anything about it. Sometimes he’ll get this far away look in his eyes, zoning out of whatever conversation is happening around him, and when he comes back there’s a melancholic set about his shoulders. A little dullness in his eyes. Cas gave up everything for him. Time and time and time again. 

“Cas?” Dean asks, already unsure of himself and what he’s trying to say. The first tendrils of sleep tugging at him means he needs to figure it out pretty quick. He wants Cas to know he matters, that he’s important to Dean. That he’s thankful for Cas’ steadfast presence. 

“Hmm?” Cas answers, sweeping the hair away from Dean’s forehead. He leans into the touch, it doesn’t seem to matter how familiar Cas’ gentle touches become to him, his body is always going to treat them like a finite resource. 

Dean swallows. He can do this. Three little words. That’s it. He can make a pathetic attempt to try and express a fraction of his gratitude. 

He’s taking too long to get the words out because worry is starting to settle on Cas’ face. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Cas looking at him. Doesn’t have to see his reaction. It makes it easier. 

“I appreciate you.” It feels like each word had to be pried from his mouth, ripped from the teeth they cling to. There’s no reason saying this to Cas should be as hard as it is. It makes Dean want to be able to grab his own shoulders and shake until some sense gets knocked into him. Or until whatever it is that makes this so hard gets knocked out of him. Whichever happens first. 

“Oh.” Cas doesn’t sound shocked, per say, but it’s definitely something akin to that. 

“Yeah. So uh- thanks.” Dean finishes lamely. 

He’s very thankful he can’t see Cas at the moment. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle whatever look is making its home on his face. 

“Of course, Dean.” Cas answers softly. He doesn’t even have to look at Cas to see the earnestness on his face, he can hear it in his voice. 

And God if earnest isn’t the word that captures Cas the best. Cas who has always given his all to those who can’t even give him some. It makes Dean’s stomach clench uncomfortably. Cas deserves to know about the depth of Dean’s feelings for him. Deserves to know just how important he is. Cas deserves better than him. Always has. 

Dean swallows. Hard. It hurts.

He does what he has always done. 

He tries. 

“No, Cas that was shit. I’m sorry. Just- just gimme a minute.” 

“Dean-”

“No, just-” Dean interrupts, taking as deep of a breath as his shit lungs will allow at the moment.“You gotta let me do this, okay?” 

“Okay.” And there it is again. That earnestness. Dean tries to borrow some of it from where it’s still hanging in the air between them. 

“I meant what I said, about appreciating you. I do. But, it’s uh- it’s deeper than that. You’re important to us- to me. You always have been. I know that I’ve never been the best at expressing that, but I need you to know- need you to know you’re important, Cas. I’m glad you’re here with us, with me. And I know I’m not doing a great job at making that known, but I’m trying. You deserve- better. Deserve more than me, but I’m trying to be someone better. Someone worth your time, someone good enough for you. You make me want to be better.” Dean finishes without fanfare, still not managing to say what he actually wants to say and it somehow felt like every single word was punched out of him. 

Cas is silent in the seconds that follow Dean’s slightly less pathetic proclamation. It makes him uneasy. He opens his eyes slowly, knowing that he needs to survey the damage even if he doesn’t want to. He’s surprised by what he sees when Cas’ face comes into focus. Pure warmth is radiating from his every atom, eyes lit brightly.

Dean wants to kiss him but doesn’t want to get Cas sick, too (and he still needs to brush his teeth) so he pushes that urge down like he always used to. It’s a lot harder now that he knows kissing Cas is something he’s allowed to do. 

“You’ve always been more than good enough.” Cas tells him in a voice that’s thick with emotion. It makes something stir in Dean’s chest but he’s just about reached his threshold for emotional vulnerability. 

“Yeah, okay. Enough chick-flick moments. I think it’s time for a nap.” He yawns as he says this, even though he did quite literally just wake up from one. Being sick is exhausting. 

“Napping is good.” Cas states as he tries for casualty by pulling a book Dean doesn’t recognize off the bedside table and settling in on top of the covers next to him, but his face and voice betray him. 

“Whatcha reading?” Dean questions as he closes his eyes, burrowing deeper into the bed. His brain, sluggish as it is, is still trying to fall down a dozen different emotional rabbit holes that he doesn’t have the fortitude to fall down right now. 

“It’s James Baldwin. Giovanni’s Room.” 

“Never heard of it. Any good?” 

“I’m not sure, I’ve yet to start it. Didn’t you just say you were going to rest?” Cas questions, sounding amused. 

“Yeah, but I’m bored.” 

Bored. Unable to be left alone with his thoughts without spiraling. Same thing. 

“You won’t be bored if you’re unconscious, you know.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Dean cracks an eye open to see his reaction. 

Cas is trying to scowl at him, but the impact it’s supposed to have is ruined by the smile that is fighting rather valiantly to take up residence on his face. 

“Go to sleep, Dean.” 

“Fine.” Dean huffs, closing his eyes again. 

It’s quiet for a moment. Dean focuses on trying to keep his thoughts from wandering to places he doesn’t much care for. He’s always hated the act of trying to fall asleep, too much potential for unwelcome thoughts. He isn’t left alone with said thoughts for long before Cas clears his throat before speaking. Dean turns his head in Cas’ direction so he knows even if Dean’s eyes aren’t open, he is actively listening to what he has to say. 

“I stand at the window of this great house in the south of France as night falls, the night which is leading me to the most terrible morning of my life.” 

“Cas-”

“You said you were bored.” Cas points out, effectively interrupting what would have been Dean’s protest. 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to read to me.” 

“I’m well aware. I don’t have to do any of the things I choose to do for you. I do them because I want to. Do you want to hear this story or not?” 

“Only if you want to read it to me.” Why does Dean feel shy all of the sudden? 

“I do, which is why I started reading it to you in the first place.” Dean can practically hear the raised brow he just knows is on Cas’ face.

“Knock yourself out, man.” Dean knows it doesn’t come off as casually as he’d meant for it to, but not much about the two of them is casual, anyway. 

“I watch my reflection in the darkening gleam of the window pane. My reflection is tall, perhaps rather like an arrow, my blond hair gleans. My face is like a face you have seen many times.” Cas continues to read, like he had never been interrupted in the first place. 

The last thought he has before sleep lays its claim on him is that the once-rare-but-increasingly-less-so feeling wrapping itself around him like a quilt on a chilly day is safety. He feels safe and he feels loved. 

Dean loves him and loves him and loves him. 

When Dean next wakes he isn’t sure how much time has passed, or where he is, or why his brain feels like that, all he does know is that he feels worse now than he did however long ago it was when he first fell asleep. 

He tries to sit up to get his bearings but it feels like he’s at the bottom of the deep end of a swimming pool but the pool consists of honey instead of water. All of his movements are sluggish and hard and his body feels heavy and sticky. He groans despite himself when he tries to sit up, causing the slumbering body next to him to stir. It takes Dean a few moments to realize that it’s Cas next to him, asleep on top of the covers, open book still in hand. Dean remembers Cas reading to him but doesn’t remember actually falling asleep. 

“How do you feel?” Cas’ voice is gruff, sleep clinging to it, weighing it down. 

“Funny.” 

Dean feels Cas sit up more than he sees him, “Define funny.” Cas kinda sounds like he’s under the honey with him. Cas would like that. He likes honey. And bees. Cas likes bees.

“Ya know.” Dean says, attempting to gesture vaguely but his honeyed limbs don’t want to cooperate, so he just ends up kind of flailing a bit instead,“Funny.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” 

Dean takes a moment to consider his answer, only to realize he has no idea what Cas actually said. He heard Cas, even if he sounded kinda far away, he just couldn’t process what he said. Dean doesn’t think asking Cas to say it again is going to help him understand, so he goes with what he thinks is a safe answer. 

“Yes.”

Cas’ laugh comes from the next room. “I believe the medicine has started to take effect.” His words came from somewhere distinctly not here, too. 

“Medicine?” Dean questions, trying very hard to remember what medicine Cas is talking about. 

“Yes, the medicine I gave you to help with your illness.” And even coming from some unknown room Dean can hear the amusement in Cas’ voice. 

“I don’t have an illness.” At least, Dean doesn’t think he does. Actually he probably does. Mentally at least. And several at that. Sam keeps on suggesting that Dean go to a psychiatrist but Dean’s always been resistant to the idea. But Cas had suggested therapy a couple of times and Dean knows he needs that. And he’d do anything Cas asked of him. Maybe he can try that first. Maybe it’s easier than a shrink.  

It’s not fair that Cas seems to have total control of all of his limbs right now, he’s using one of them to once again sweep errant hairs from his face. This is the longest Dean’s hair has ever been. He used to get haircuts pretty regularly because it was the only way he could get the gentle touch he so needed but didn’t know how to ask for, didn’t have anyone he could ask for it from. But now Dean has Cas and Cas gives Dean gentle touches that he doesn’t even have to ask for. He hasn’t felt the need to get a haircut in a while. 

“You’re delirious.” Dean can hear the smile in Cas’ voice as much as he can see it. 

 “No, I’m Dean.” And he’s confident this is one of the funniest things he’s ever said. 

“And a comedian as well, apparently.” Cas responds, confirming Dean’s theory. 

“Yeah. I’m other stuff, too, ya know? Like an Aquarius. And an ESTP.” It’s difficult for Dean to get his mouth to form the correct shapes to get the letters out. “Whatever the hell that means. Sam made me take a quiz online. Sam makes me take lots of quizzes online. I kinda like it, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Cas moves closer so that they’re connected from shoulder to ankle before asking, “Anything else I should know about you that I don’t already?” 

“I’m scared of heights.” Dean confesses. 

“I’m aware, as are most people. You don’t exactly try to keep that a secret. Anything else you’d like to share before sleep claims you once more?” Dean wonders if Cas knows he writes poetry when he speaks. He should probably tell him someday. He thinks about all of the things he wants to tell Cas someday. It dawns on him that he can tell Cas some of these things. Someday has to turn into today eventually and maybe that’s this today.  

Dean’s wanted to tell Cas about these someday thoughts for a long time but hasn’t been able to for reasons that he can’t exactly remember right now, reasons that don’t seem very important anymore. Something about him being emotionally repressed, probably. Or maybe it’s his daddy issues. Different sides, same coin. But Dean wants to say it and doesn’t know why he shouldn’t say it so he does. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

Cas freezes next to him, tense and stock-still.

“What did you just say?” And Cas is whispering even though the room isn't asking for quiet. Some moments just need it.

“What? That I’m in love with you?” Dean wonders if he sounds like he’s in the next room for Cas. 

“That’s not funny, Dean.” His voice is sharp, cutting through some of the haze around Dean’s brain, offering him a bit of clarity. It hurts a little, too, that Cas would think this is some sort of joke. Dean just has to convince him that he’s serious. That he’s earnest in this just as Cas is earnest in everything he does. 

“It’s not a joke, Cas. I am. I know I don’t ever talk about how I feel but that’s just ‘cus my dad taught me that emotions weren’t manly and that I had to be a manly man all the time, so now it’s impossible for me to talk about how I feel unless I’m fucked up, apparently. Sorry I had to be hopped up on cold medicine for me to tell you, but I’ll find a way to make it up to you. Promise.” Dean finishes his little speech with a smirk. Or at least he thinks he smirks. He’s not exactly in total control of his body or his mind right now. 

“But yeah. I love you. Am in love with you. Have been for a while. Longer than we’ve been together.” Dean remembers something that makes him chuckle. “Used to fantasize about you. Not even anything sexy, man. Well some of them were sexy, but I used to fantasize about holding your hand, or running my fingers through your hair. I’d have dreams where we’d be eating and you’d put your hand on my knee and my stomach would be all in knots when I woke up. That’s how I knew I had it bad. Took me a while to realize what being in love felt like, but once that happened I knew I’d been feeling it for a long time with you.” 

Cas is sitting there, slightly stunned look still on his face. So Dean just keeps talking. He’s kept a lot bottled up over the years and suddenly it’s very easy to let it all pour out. 

“Like it all makes sense now. The whole me completely-falling-apart-anytime you-were-gone thing. You know every time you’ve died I’ve just kinda, I dunno- stopped? I drink a whole lot more when you’re gone. So much more. I think I have a drinking problem, actually. I want to stop drinking but I’m scared to-”

“Dean-” Cas finally speaks and Dean can feel some of the tension leaking out of him. Cas speaking reminds Dean that he was talking about something else altogether before he started down this tangent. 

“Oh, yeah. I give up almost completely when you’re gone. No point in living if you’re not. When you’re dead it’s like- it’s like I’m in the grave with you.” 

There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?  

Dean thinks that it feels kinda nice, actually. That’s what he’d been trying to say to Cas earlier but was too in his head about. He gets in his head and his voice gets lost and then the man next to him doesn’t get to know how much Dean loves him until he’s been drugged with an egregious amount of cold medicine. 

“You love me?” Cas’ voice is soft and full of disbelief when he finally responds to what Dean had confessed. It makes Dean’s chest ache. He’s not doing a good enough job at convincing Cas. Just means I’ve gotta try harder, he tells himself. 

“Course I love you, man. You’re you. Kinda hard not to love you and I’d know ‘cus I tried for a long time to shove my feelings for you where I shove all of my other feelings. You see how that worked out for me.” Dean tells him, patting Cas’ arm a couple of times just in case he didn’t know what Dean was talking about. Some things can go over Cas’ head sometimes. 

Dean thinks he’s finally managed to capture some of Cas’ earnestness. Some of his bravery. Cas is very brave. It makes Dean want to be brave, too. 

So Dean decides to be brave. Decides to shake himself free of the grip his father still has on him so he can tell Cas everything he deserves to hear. 

“I like it when you take care of me. It feels nice. Makes me feel loved. Like I’m important or some shit.” 

“You are important.” Cas counters, some of the disbelief mercifully missing from his voice. 

“To you, maybe.” Dean deflects, Old habits die hard, apparently. 

“Yes, you are the single most important thing to me. But you’re important to others as well.” And Cas says this with such ease. He can just say this kind of stuff whenever he wants. His ability to actually use his words is something that has always left Dean kind of awestruck. 

Sleep is once again tugging at his shirttails. He doesn’t think he’s going to need to sleep ever again after this. 

“Dean?” Cas calls out into the ether. 

“Hmm?” 

“Think you’ll remember this tomorrow?” He sounds so uncertain. Dean really has got to get his head out of his ass, for Cas’ sake more than anything. 

“Hope so. If not, I’ll just have to tell you again I guess.” 

Dean didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he’s startled (as startled as he can be right now) by what he assumes is the hair from the top of Cas’ head, which he thinks is resting on his shoulder, tickling his cheek. He’s roughly six seconds from slumber claiming him once more when Cas speaks again. Dean feels kinda like he’s floating somewhere outside of his body watching this conversation happen. 

“Dean.” 

“Cas.” 

“Say it again.” 

“It again.”

“I can still kill you. Easily.” 

“And I love that about you. I love you.” 

“I love you.” Is Cas’ soft reply and oh if that isn’t a sound Dean didn’t know just how badly he needed to hear until those sacred syllables have willingly and eagerly left Cas’ lips. No punching or prying or clinging to teeth. Dean has got to learn how Cas does it. 

He feels funny, not funny like the cold medicine is making him feel but like funny floaty. Like he’s light and free and floating. Euphoric, that’s the word. He finally did something right by Cas and he feels like he’s on literal cloud nine because of it. 

He hears Cas sniffle next to him and Dean’s going to kick his own ass if Cas is sick because of him. 

“Cas, you good man?” 

“Perfect.” He responds, voice gruff. 

Dean looks down at Cas’ face and sees a single tear making its way down his cheek, eyes shining with more threatening to fall.

“Awe man, are you crying? Why are you crying?” 

Cas laughs and swipes his thumb across Dean’s cheek. It’s wet when he pulls it away. 

“Wait, am I crying? Why am I crying? I never used to cry before you, ya know? Kept all my emotions close to my chest, like a man.” 

“How well did that work out for you?” And even through his tears Cas manages to be an ass. Dean doesn’t mind though. It’s funny. And endearing. 

“Not very. I cry all the time now, though. Cried watching a documentary about cowboys the other day.” Dean’s mouth seems to be working faster than his brain for once and he only realizes it when Cas honest to God guffaws , effectively pushing the hesitant tears from his eyes. At least they’re tears from laughter now. 

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Told myself I wasn’t gonna tell you so couldn’t make fun of me.” 

“I would never make fun of you.” Cas tells him, wiping away the wetness clinging to the corners of his eyes. There’s a mischievous glint in them that tells him Cas isn’t being the most honest. Dean’s got just enough of his wits left about him to call his bluff. 

“Liar.” 

“I would never make fun of you for something serious, like crying over cowboys.” He amends. 

“Cowboys are serious.” 

“I know. You’ve made me watch several movies dedicated to showcasing their lives.” Even if Cas won’t admit it because of pride or whatever, Dean knows he loves those movies. 

His face is soft as he leans forward to press a kiss to Dean’s temple, it’s brief but it still makes him float even higher. 

Cas’ face is slightly pinched when he pulls back. It makes Dean grin before he asks, “What?” 

“You’re very sweaty.” 

“And you’re very charming.” 

“I know.” 

Dean loves him. And that’s something he can say now, so he does as he adjusts the comforter that’s twisted around him. “Love you.” 

Dean watches through impending-sleep heavy eyes as Cas softens at the words. It frees up space in his chest that he hadn’t noticed was occupied until this moment. “And I, you. Get some rest, I’ll wake you when you can take more meds.” 

Dean nods his head. Rest sounds fantastic. 

The last thing he registers is Cas’ hand being placed on top of his. 

A couple of months later Dean finds himself looking directly at his feet as he climbs the stairs leading to the roof, watching as he places one foot in front of the other, even if every atom in his body is screaming for him to tuck tail and run. 

This is a good thing.

What he’s doing is a good thing. A long overdue occurrence, the need for which is made even more apparent by his mutinous body’s reaction to the mere thought of it. 

He opens the roof door, not seeing Cas right away. The plants purchased all those months ago are flourishing under his watchful eye and tender hand (Dean can think of another example of this Cas-specific-phenomenon) and he had been correct in his assumption that he was going to get to know Max pretty well. They’ve made a dozen more trips and he’s discovered that he’s fond of her in ways that he never thought were possible for someone like him. 

Max is captivated by Cas and has been since they first met. Dean had made a few more solo trips to the center. Cas would notice he needed something (this nutrient or that tool) while he was in the middle of working, and as Dean was frequently up there with a book or the easy silence that exists between the two of them, he would place a kiss to the top of Cas’ head, letting him know that’d he’d be back soon. Eventually curiosity won out and Cas wanted Dean to take him to look around for himself. 

The first time they’d gone together, Max had smiled at Dean when he walked in and she’d smiled even wider when she saw he wasn’t alone. 

“Is this who I think it is?” She’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet when she asks this, looking back and forth between the two of them. 

Cas gave Dean an uncertain look, Dean gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile in return. 

“The one and only. Max, this is Cas. Cas, Max.” Dean said, gesturing between the two of them. 

“Hello.” Cas offered with a little more certainty. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Dean speaks of you fondly when he returns from his trips here.” 

“You’ve talked about me?” Max questions, giving Dean a wry smile. 

Before Dean can respond with what would have been an inevitable downplay of just how much he likes Max, Cas answers her question by saying, “Yes, he does. Don’t let his showmanship and inclination to deflect from anything resembling affection fool you, Dean is very fond of you.” 

Max laughs as Dean rolls his eyes, mostly for showmanship. “Dude, you can’t just give away my more intricate parts like that. I’ve got layers that need to be pulled back slowly. It’s part of my charm.” 

Cas’ face shifts into something similar to exasperated but lacking true annoyance as he says, “And as you can see, humility is another trait that lends itself in abundance to Dean’s charm.” 

“And yet my charm still did what it was supposed to. Gotcha to fall in love with me, didn't I?”

“Yes, you did.” Cas confirms in a tone that’s much more sincere than Dean had been anticipating. 

“Good thing, too. I’m lousy without you.” Dean tells him, voice softer than he gave it permission to be before switching gears so the moment doesn’t turn to something more intimate next to what Dean now knows are spider plants. “Do you wanna keep discussing my personality or do you wanna look at the plants you were so excited about five minutes ago?” 

Max has been silently watching their little exchange with mirth-filled eyes. “I do have some stuff I was saving for Dean that I can show you, if you’d like.”

Cas smiles warmly at her. “That’s very kind, thank you.”

Max shrugs off the compliment, shooting Dean a sly grin as she stage whispers, “It’s because Dean’s very kind. That’s why he gets special treatment. He’s actually my favorite customer, but don’t tell him I said that. Don’t want him to lose any of that humility he’s known for.” 

“We’re supposed to be allies, why are you taking his side?” Dean questions with mock offense. 

“You should never have talked so lovingly about Cas, then. My opinion of him is based entirely on your opinion of him. Of course I’m gonna pick his side. Maybe I can get Cas’ opinion on you and reevaluate accordingly.” 

“I’m finding a new garden center to go to.” Dean threatens. 

“No you’re not. You like me and Cas too much to do that.” 

“Yeah- Well- Whatever. Go look at your leaves. I’ll be here, humble and charming as always.”

Cas looks incredibly done with Dean’s shit and somehow still endeared before turning to head the opposite direction, Max laughs as she follows his lead. She only makes it a few steps before stopping to turn back and look at him, it’s eerily reminiscent of the first time they met. Her gaze shifts between Dean and Cas before saying, “We were both right, you know?” 

“About what?” Dean questions, and he can see from the slight tilt of his head, Cas equally doesn’t know what Max is talking about. 

“When you were telling me about him, I said Cas was lucky to have you and you said that you were lucky to have him. We were both right. You’re lucky to have each other.” 

Dean sees Cas’ face soften before he asks, “Did he really say that?” 

“Yup.” Max confirms with a nod, lips popping the last letter. “He’s said a lot of stuff about you. We can talk about it while I help you shop.” 

Dean’s groan is met with two shit-eating grins in return.

The rest was history, the two of them getting on like a house on fire after that. 

Their relationship proves to Dean that some things can be absolute and wholly pure. They communicate with one another in hushed tones and soft smiles, secret laughter shared with bowed heads that makes warmth radiate from Dean’s chest. 

His current train of thought is rerouted when Cas comes into view a few seconds after Dean crosses the threshold. He’s wiping the ever-present dirt off his hands when he notices he’s no longer alone. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Hey, Cas.” 

Cas offers the same radiant smile he always does when he sees Dean, the one that hasn’t stopped making Dean feel like he’s standing in the sun regardless of how many times Cas shines on him, he always lights up like it’s the first time. 

His smile falters slightly, eyes narrowing marginally as he gives Dean a once over. “Is everything okay?” 

Either Dean is obviously on the verge of a panic attack or Cas is so tuned into him that he can sense the nervous agitation hanging off Dean’s frame, (it’s probably both), it doesn’t matter, they both mean he needs to get his shit together all the same. 

“Uh- yeah. I’m fine. Just-” You’re doing this for him. You’re doing this for yourself so you can be a better man for him. “I’m just nervous,” and Dean holds a hand up, knowing that Cas was immediately going to question why he feels that way and he isn’t sure that if he stops talking that he’ll be able to start again. “I’m nervous. Well, I guess scared’s more like it, anyway. I don’t think it matters that much.” He pauses to steady himself, “I came up here to ask a favor.”    

“Of course. Anything.” 

Dean’s heart swells. 

Of course of course of course. 

Dean takes a deep breath because he knows he’s gotta get this all out in one go if he wants to get it out at all. “I’ve been looking at different therapists for a few weeks now and I found one that specializes in trauma and I made an appointment with him and that appointment is today and I was wondering- no. I want you- Will you go with me? For support or whatever. Please?” The words still had to be pried from where they cling to his teeth, but they must be getting weaker or he must be getting stronger because fighting through their act of resistance is getting just a little easier. 

Dean can tell Cas is a bit stunned but trying very hard not to show it. Dean’s sure he’s thrown him for a loop and this probably seems like it’s coming completely out of left field, but he hadn’t wanted to say anything about it until he was staring down the barrel of the gun, that way no one would be disappointed in him if he chickened out. 

“Oh. Ah, yes. Of course. I’ll go with you, of course I will. That’s- This is-” Cas stops mid-sentence to take a deep breath before he speaks again. 

“Dean, I’m extraordinarily proud of you. I’m not going to make a big deal out of this even though I very much want to because I don’t think it’d serve you very well at the time being, but just know that I am proud of you.” And even though Cas is trying to remain somewhat neutral about what Dean’s sure is, frankly, very shocking news- the emotion in his voice gives Cas away by revealing just how big of a deal he thinks this is. 

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’re tired of dealin’ with my emotionally stunted ass all the time and havin’ my nightmares wake us both at all hours of the night. I’ve been told therapists help with that kinda stuff.” It’s as close to I’m doing this for you more than I’m doing it for me because you’re the most important thing to me and I love you and I want to be someone worth your time and I want to ask you to marry me but I’ve got some shit I gotta work through so I can be a better man before that happens as Dean can get right now. 

“Whatever your reason for doing this doesn’t negate my joy that you’re doing it at all.” 

Dean averts his eyes, having a hard time meeting Cas’ gaze without feeling overwhelmed. His gaze falls to the ground between their feet. It’s at odds with the rest of the space Cas has created up here, industrial versus natural. Cas would love to live in the middle of nowhere. It’s a thought that’s crossed his mind in passing before, but maybe it doesn’t have to be just a thought. 

Dean doesn’t want to live in the bunker forever and even if he hasn’t talked to Cas about it, he doesn’t think he’ll want to either. An image pops into Dean’s mind unbridled. Two rocking chairs on a wrap around porch attached to a big house. There’s green everywhere. Cas in the garden, a real garden. Dean in the kitchen, big and open and light. There’s a library and a dining room and windows in every single room. 

A house.

A home.

A home for him and Cas. The image nearly knocks him on his ass. He’s never let himself think these kinds of dangerous thoughts before. 

Dean swallows, realizing he never responded to Cas. “My appointment isn’t for another few hours so uh- just take your time up here. I’m gonna go downstairs. Work on the car.” The Impala doesn’t need a single thing done to it but Dean needs something to do with his hands or they’re going to peel his flesh from his frame or itch until he picks up a bottle and not find relief until the bottle is empty and he no longer feels like himself or they’ll wander to any number of the ways he’s learned to self-destruct over the years. 

He spends the time leading up to his appointment detailing Baby and pretending like he’s actually successful in distracting himself. It’s not like he’s actively thinking about it, but his thoughts circle around it in his head. He knows it’s there, can feel it taking up space, but he’s only allowing himself to think about the task directly in front of him. It doesn’t help that much but it’s keeping him from getting drunk at 10:00 AM on a Monday, so that’s something. 

He wonders when he’ll have to address his whole needing alcohol to be able to function thing. There are still nights when the only thing that’ll get him back to sleep after a nightmare is one too many. Times where his shaking hands are only quelled when there’s a too full glass in them. Days when the only solution he can find for the everything inside him is drink after drink after drink after drink. 

Cas hasn’t ever said anything about it, and Dean himself only acknowledged it the one time, when he was taken to another dimension via cold medicine, but for Dean, Cas’ face reads as well as his voice speaks. He can see the worry there. The fear tucked behind the sadness. Always worry and fear and sadness, never disappointment or anger. 

Dean wants to be able to say the words out loud when he is in control of body and mind. He wants to be able to say I have a drinking problem because if he can say it out loud, he may be able to say it to someone else, and if he can say it to someone else, maybe he can get help. And he wants to get help. 

He hasn’t even told Sam that he’s going to therapy, let alone that he wants to try to stop drinking. He doesn’t know which one will be more of a shock to his brother. It makes a bitter laugh break free far easier than any of his words, filling the large space of the garage that’s been made small by the silence. 

What the hell is he even supposed to tell Sam? Hey, you and Cas were right. Turns out watching Mom die and the instability and the responsibility Dad put on me and the turning tricks when he didn’t leave enough money for food or when you wanted a birthday present that didn’t come from a truck stop and being a weapon and my body being created to not belong to myself and going to literal hell and all the times my body has been a shield for you or the world or whatever needed protecting and the everything-fucking-else sure did a number on my head and I’m so damaged I now require professional help and even then, I’m not sure if I can be helped or if I even deserve it. 

Yeah. Sounds great.

Fucking hell.

What happens if it turns out that Dean’s waited too long and he’s entirely too far gone and he can’t get help because there’s nothing that can help him and that would confirm his theory that he’s not good enough to get help, that he doesn’t deserve it, that people like him are meant to suffer? Perpetual penance for all the blood on his hands and on and in his soul and for all the ways his hands have hurt and destroyed and all the ways and times he’s failed the ones he loves and-

“Dean? Sweetheart? Breathe. You’re okay.” And that’s Cas’ voice coming from in front of him, Cas kneeling and Dean not-exactly-sitting on the floor. Why is he on the floor? When did his legs decide they could hold him no longer? When did Cas get here? How long has Cas been watching him spiral- how much did he see? 

This happens to Dean sometimes, he’ll get stuck in his head, thoughts looping and galloping around in his mind uncontrolled and uncontained and he’ll be in his body but not because he’s definitely awake but then the next thing he knows he’s on the ground with no idea how or when that happened, struggling to breathe because at some point while he was checked-out someone has moved Atlas from where he holds the weight of the sky to his new home on Dean’s chest. He doesn’t know why he does this or even what the fuck it is. He just knows it’s something that happens when his thoughts start swirling a certain way, he just doesn’t know what it is that makes them swirl.

“Dean, you’re alright, but I need you to breathe with me, breathe for me, okay?” There’s Cas’ voice again. Dean hadn’t even noticed his breaths were coming in sharp pants, something just north of hyperventilating. That was another thing that happened sometimes, him struggling to breathe when his thoughts get swirly and spirally and spidery like this which in turn makes his thoughts even more swirly and spirally and spidery but because his mind is already rebelling against him, he typically doesn’t notice right away when his body starts to rebel, too. He wonders if that’s something they’ll cover in therapy. Probably. 

Cas’ hand comes up to Dean’s face, resting at the bolt of his jaw, fingers sweeping through the hair behind his ear, thumb making gentle passes on the highest part of his cheek. It helps ground him, helps him remember what’s real about all of this. 

He tries to remember how to do the breathing thing for anxiety that Cas had shown him. He knows the information is somewhere in his brain because he uses it every so often to help him when the Thing that lives in his chest is just shifting and stirring, he typically manages to get it and himself and everything else under control before it wakes completely, but once it actually wakes, the simplest tasks become Sisyphean. 

“I don’t want you to start hyperventilating because we both know that will just make you feel worse. Do you think you can breathe with me?” 

Dean gives a small, jerky nod in confirmation because yeah, he probably can breathe the same air as Cas, needs to breathe the same air as him. 

Cas offers him a soft smile as his breathing stretches and slows. His thumb is still stroking Dean’s face. It almost feels nice, he wants it to feel nice. He wants to feel the touch beyond the pressure on his skin. He wants to feel it for what it really is. 

It takes him a few tries, but eventually he’s able to sync up with Cas, even if he isn’t able to breathe as deeply. He doesn’t know how long they do this, the sharing of air and of breath and of life. Dean’s sure he’d find something profound there if he had the mental capacity to stop and look. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, that Cas has done this with him, for him . Held him and guided him through this unknown and all-consumingly unholy and terrifying thing. Cas has seen him ripped to shreds by his own head more times than he can count, and yet every time Cas is still there. Cas is always there.  

Dean loves him. 

As his breathing slows and it stops being so hard and his mind clears the anxiety is quickly being replaced with shame. 

How fucked up is he if he has a mental breakdown over going to therapy? He doesn’t want to be like this, he’s tired of being like this. He’s tired of not knowing another way and he’s tired of not knowing how to learn another way.

He’s tired. 

He’s tired and he’s come back into his body enough now that he notices it in excess. He always feels it but is usually able to tune it out. He always feels exceptionally tired after one of these little episodes. 

“There you are.” Cas whispers, not because he has to be quiet but because moments like these demand to be heard with softness and are required to be gently felt. 

For so long Dean was wholly unfamiliar with people handling him with tender care. John sure as shit never did it and Dean has a small handful of memories with his mother. Bobby cares but that care is felt in clapped shoulders and sharp words. Bobby is gruff even in his love. Sam cares but he was also their father’s student so his care is shown in odd ways, with speculative glances and questioning words. Sam’s love is explicitly felt even if it’s never explicitly stated, but there isn’t much about their relationship that anyone would consider tender. 

And then there’s Cas. 

Cas shows his care in the handprint that has still yet to fade from Dean’s body and soul. Cas shows his care in silent support and deafening defiance. Cas shows his care in hands held and casual touches given. Cas shows his care in every single thing he does. In every single resistanceless word that falls from his lips. One of those resistanceless words finally processes in Dean’s brain. 

“You called me ‘sweetheart.’” They didn’t use pet names with each other, not really. It wasn’t that Dean had anything against them, he just didn’t know of a word that could properly express care and love like the name Cas could. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Cas’ gaze drops to the floor, pink staining his cheeks. Dean always thought it was a good look on Cas, but not like this. 

“No. No, that wasn’t a complaint. I liked it, it’s nice. I- um. I wouldn’t mind if you did it again, actually. I’m good. You’re good. Just, you know, unexpected.” Dean tells him, placing his hand on Cas’ arm as he haphazardly tries to find the words that will ease the tense set of Cas’ shoulders. 

It works, partially at least. Some of the tension drains from him as he gives Dean a shy smile. Under normal circumstances that smile would have Dean acting somewhat smug that he could still make Cas any shade of bashful, when in all actuality his stomach was somewhere near his feet, but this isn’t exactly a normal circumstance. Well, it’s becoming a bit more commonplace, this isn’t their first time attempting to navigate this phenomenon that Dean’s traitorous body subjects him to. 

“Noted.” Cas says, gaze back on his face, eyes searching, scanning. Dean doesn’t know what Cas is going to find, but whatever it is he’s wholly convinced neither of them are going to like it. 

“Sorry.” Is all Dean can come up with in response. He wonders if he will ever stop having to apologize to Cas. 

 Cas narrows his eyes slightly, studying Dean with a tilted head and unreadable expression. “Why are you constantly apologizing for things you have no reason to be sorry for?” 

“I dunno, just feel like I got to.” Dean doesn’t really have it in him right now to come up with a better answer or a lie, so Cas gets the truth. Part of it at least. 

“Well, you don’t have to, and definitely not to me.” A beat passes before Cas speaks again, softer this time, “Are you okay?” 

Dean snorts, “Oh yeah, man. I’m fan-friggin-tastic.” 

Cas’ face drops a fraction, Dean feels it in his chest. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t be an asshole to you just because I can’t keep my shit together.” 

A close-lipped smile is offered before Cas says, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Dean shakes his head. “I really don’t. I’m know I’m gonna have to, that’s the whole fuckin’ point of therapy, but I just- not now. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Cas agrees, shifting so that he’s no longer kneeling in front of Dean, moving to sit at his side. Their shoulders are touching, backs against the Impala, Dean’s head falls back with a soft thump . 

“What time is your appointment?” 

Dean’s staring at the ceiling when he answers, “Three.” 

Cas hums in acknowledgement. Silence creeps in, foggy and disconcerting and cold. Dean closes his eyes and tries not to think. He’s never been very good at that, the whole clearing your mind thing. He always just ends up thinking about how he shouldn’t be thinking. 

“Contrary to popular belief, angels have feelings, or rather they feel. They just feel differently, in every sense of the word, than humans.” It’s quiet when he starts speaking. Dean’s eyes are still closed, he feels Cas reach out to take his hand rather than sees him do it. Sometimes feeling something means more than seeing it, anyway. Sight isn’t always the most reliable witness, not when it comes to perception. Dean takes note of the feeling of their palms touching, fingers linked tightly. 

“The first human emotion I ever felt was worry. Of course, I had no way of knowing that’s what it was at the time. Subsequently, the worry I felt turned to doubt, which turned to rebellion, which turned to me sitting here right now. Which is fitting as the first human emotion I ever felt was because of you. I found the other angels’ treatment of you to be worrisome. I thought it strange they couldn’t see just how hard you were trying, how much of yourself that you were already giving to everyone. It didn’t sit right with me.” Dean feels him shift closer, an act he didn’t know was possible. Cas’ voice takes on a gentle tone when he speaks again. 

“Maybe they couldn’t see it because they didn’t hold your soul in their hands like I did, maybe they just didn’t know who you were. Who you are. That’s what I was hoping for at the time as the alternative was them knowing and simply not caring. That’s something I always thought humans have done exceptionally well. They care.” 

Cas pulls their joined hands into his lap, placing his other hand on top of Dean’s. 

“It’s always amazed me how people can contain multitudes- how people can exist with fear, how fear can exist with hope, how they can both be equally motivating forces. It’s symbiotic, they cannot exist without the other. Fear inspires hope, hope inspires love, and love-” Cas stops speaking for just a moment, small smile playing at the corners of his mouth before he lets out a laugh that’s more air than anything else.

“Love changes everything doesn’t it? In all of my years I have never encountered something as strong and as powerful as love. I’ve witnessed love drive you to self-sacrifice time and time and time again. I couldn’t make any sense of it at the time. I understand now, though. I learned love from you and I try to replicate your unceasing selflessness, even if I often fall short, comparatively. Self-sacrifice is the Winchester way, isn’t it?” 

Dean opens his eyes at this and lets his head fall to the side so that he can look at Cas, so that he can argue with him because how the hell does Cas fall short in anything, but especially love? Out of all things Cas could think he falls short with, his love is on that list? 

Cas must sense what Dean is about to do, holding up a hand to stop the interruption before it starts, “All of that to say, sometimes I think you may forget or simply not realize that I feel things in the human way now. I feel worry and doubt, just as you do. I’m not some immovable, impenetrable entity. I too have moments of anxiety and vulnerability. I don’t want you to think that you’re alone in this, that it makes you some sort of anomaly.” 

Objectively, Dean knew this to be true. It didn’t happen as often as it did for him, but there were nights that Cas’ nightmares would wake him with thrashing limbs and a racing heart, a shout ready and eager to break free from his lips. Dean had always been a light sleeper, it’d gotten better since him and Cas had given up the pretense of comfort in separate beds. Dean had been sleeping a little deeper, a little longer, a little easier with the knowledge that Cas was there. Knowing that the warmth of the body next to him meant love and safety. 

In turn, Dean tried to replicate some of the same comfort for Cas. Sometimes Dean felt like it was a futile effort, because while he was sleeping better, that wasn’t enough to erase years of most people’s worst nightmares being a facet of his day job. It wasn’t enough to erase all the shit he’d been through and been put through. So it was still commonplace for Dean to have dreams bad enough to wake him and Cas and render Dean unable to sleep for the rest of the night. Cas was always present in a heartbeat, no matter the ferocity with which sleep would still cling to him, it seemed like it was instinct for him at this point. Instinct to reach out and pull Dean into him, to whisper comforting words as he ran a hand up and down some part of Dean’s body, talking about everything and nothing to give him something else to think about. 

So on the rare occasions the roles were reversed, Dean would pull Cas in, whispering whatever inconsequential thought was bouncing around in his head into the space between their mouths, keeping his hold on Cas until he fell back asleep, sometimes well past it. Just in case. Those nights were hard for Dean. Cas really does almost always seem like some immovable force and seeing him in any sort of position of weakness has always unsettled Dean, especially now without the power of heaven looming over them. 

“You’re not alone, Dean. I don’t ever want you to think that you are. I know you’re inclined to self-deprecation and struggle with your self-esteem, but you are not the man you think you are.” Cas is staring right at him, right through him. Dean wants to hide. 

Cas continues, “You’re better, you’re a good man. And I know that you’re taking the first step into being able to recognize the goodness in you that everyone else has seen all along. I don’t want you to try and self-destruct because you think you don’t deserve it. Good things do happen, Dean. You deserve good things, you just need to let them happen.” 

Dean’s throat and eyes are burning. He’s so damn tired of crying. It really does feel like that’s all he’s doing these days. Cas had said something about him no longer having to exist in a “threat state” constantly. So now that his body is at least somewhat relaxed, his mind is allowing himself to feel more fully than he’d been able to before. Dean doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like this part of it, at least. The loving Cas part is pretty nice, but everything else fucking sucks. He feels like he’s constantly overrun with every single emotion in existence. It’s overwhelming. 

He nods, feeling pathetic. He doesn’t have it in him to argue with Cas right now and Dean knows that if he voices his opposition to Cas’ words an argument is inevitable. 

The moment stretches and moves as moments are apt to do. Cas makes it move a fraction slower when he pulls Dean into him. Slows it even further when he places a feather light kiss on Dean's temple. Makes the moment honey-thick in its sweetness when he whispers, “I love you.” 

Dean uses the thumb that’s still resting in Cas’ lap to tap three times, hoping the message gets across. 

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand in response, confirming all things spoken and unspoken to be true. 

He doesn’t want to go in. There’s something heavy sitting in his stomach. He wants to turn back around and go home and drink himself into oblivion. He wants to not have to be here in the first place. 

“Dean?” Cas calls out softly, then in an even softer voice, “Sweetheart? It’s almost time. I think this is a bandage ripping scenario, but I’m here to help you pull. You have to go in eventually or we have to go home and we’ll try again. The choice is yours.” 

We. Us. Dean isn’t alone. 

He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath. Cas is right, he knows he is, but that doesn’t make any of this any easier. He can do this. He can do this small thing so he can be better. So he can be the man Cas thinks he is. 

Opening his eyes, he yanks the keys out of the ignition and opens the Impala door in the same movement, allowing the momentum to propel him out of the car and hopefully to the front door because he thinks if he stops for even just a second before he’s inside he’ll never make it past the threshold. 

He doesn’t wait for Cas or even know if he’s out of the car yet, but after making it a few steps toward the front door a hand slips into his, giving him the strength he needs to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Cas steps ahead of Dean just slightly, opening the door and stepping across the threshold easily. Stepping across like it isn’t some chasm that needs to be traversed. Cas’ gentle grip on his hand pulls him forward. He makes it into the building and the first thing he sees is a small and mercifully empty waiting room. There’s a receptionist that Dean knows he needs to go talk to but all he can think about is how warm he feels. 

Cas leads him to a chair and guides him gently into sitting down. He has to practically pry his hand from Dean’s, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I’m just going to get you checked in. I’ll be right back.” 

That Thing is moving about in his chest again and he hates it. He hates this. He hates that his body and his mind are constantly at war with one another and he is the ceaseless casualty. Dean tries to ground himself, knowing that if he doesn't, a second breakdown of the day will be the reward and he doesn’t know how well he’d be able to bounce back from that. He listens to Cas murmuring to the receptionist, the only words he’s able to pick out from Cas’ low voice are his name followed immediately by husband.

It catches Dean off guard enough to momentarily placate some of the everything swirling around inside of him. 

Why would Cas be talking about husbands with the receptionist? Is he asking about her husband? That seems a bit outside of the realm of Cas’ limited small talk subjects. He typically doesn’t say anything unless he has to, he doesn’t really do small talk, never quite mastered it. Dean’s stream of thoughts are interrupted when Cas finishes with the receptionist and comes to sit next to him. He takes Dean’s hand in his own, pulling it into his lap. 

“What were you talking about? With the receptionist?” Dean questions without preamble. He has a difficult time locating his tact when anxiety is coursing through his veins like this. 

“Nothing, just getting you checked in. Why?” And Cas only looks mildly confused. 

“I heard you say something about a ‘husband,’ just wondering what you were talking about.” 

“Oh.” Cas says, eyes almost immediately falling to their joined hands. Is he blushing? Why is he blushing? He drops his voice to a true whisper, making Dean lean in to be able to hear him, “Sam told me that sometimes when it comes to medical care, the providers withhold information or access to the person being treated if you’re not immediate family, which has never been an issue previously as I could bypass any feeble human attempt at separation, but that’s no longer something I can do.” Dean feels a pang in his chest for Cas. “So when she asked about our relation I-” And his voice gets even quieter before he continues, “I told her I was your husband, just- just in case you need me, no barriers. I hope that’s okay. I should have asked before, I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay.” 

“It’s okay?” Cas asks in a tone that’s bordering offensive with how incredulous it is. 

“I mean, we’re already practically married, anyway. Married in all the ways that count.” Dean tells him. He recognizes that these should have been teeth-clinging words, but they flow out of him. Anxiety has a way of loosening his lips in ways that aren’t always the most beneficial. 

“What are the ways that count?” And Cas is still speaking quietly, but his voice has taken on a different quality. 

“You know.” 

“No, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” Cas fires back. It makes nervous laughter bubble up from Dean’s chest and escape his lips. 

“Just- we live together. We sleep together. We watch TV together. I make you dinner and you make me feel like maybe I’m not- We take care of each other. We tell each other secrets and shit. You’re my best friend. Don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you.” Cas’ sharp inhale clues Dean into the fact that he may have said too much, knows he almost said too much. 

Does Cas really not know that Dean doesn’t exactly see an expiration date to their relationship? 

Surely he had to.  

This is it for Dean. It’s Cas. It’s always been Cas. 

Before what would have inevitably been a cluster-fuck of terribly strung together words, Cas shakes his head at him. 

“I know we have a rather profound bond and the depth of your care is felt by me in everything you do, but it’s one thing to feel it. It’s another thing altogether to hear it.” 

Bravery in excess is filling the space between them thick and tangible, enabling Dean to reach into the space between them and pluck some of it from the air. Cas is brave. Cas makes him feel brave. 

“That’s why I’m here.” He tells Cas quietly. It’s a whisper moment, demanding in its need to be all things gentle and soft. 

Cas squeezes his hand, opening his mouth to respond but before he can an unfamiliar voice calls out, “Dean?” 

Both Cas and Dean turn their heads to the direction of the voice, (Dean a little more forcefully) to see a man about Dean’s age standing at the opening of the hallway that presumably leads to where the magic happens. He’s shorter than Dean, dressed in khakis and a polo. He doesn’t look as intimidating as Dean had made him out to be in his head. 

“You can come on back.”

The Thing starts stirring in Dean’s chest again. He can’t do this. He’s wasted everyone’s time and he’s never going to get to be better for Cas because he’s too broken and he can’t do this and- 

“Breathe.” Cas whispers, this is not a whisper moment, but a private one. “Do you want me to go back with you?” 

Dean nods because he knows he can do impossible things when Cas is there with him, has done impossible things with Cas and for Cas; they’ve saved the world. Multiple times. Dean can try and talk about his feelings. 

Cas stands and gives him a reassuring smile, holding out his hand to help Dean stand. He always does that.

“Is it alright if I join him?” Cas asks, turning to the therapist who Dean cannot remember the name of for the life of him right now. 

“As long as Dean’s cool with it, I’m cool with it.” 

Dean nods again, taking Cas’ hand as he stands. He forces one iron foot in front of the other and tries very hard to at least not have the outward appearance of someone having a very inward meltdown. 

“I’m Jude.” He says, offering his hand which Dean shakes automatically, just like the way John had beat into him. 

He offers his hand to Cas as well, who shakes it like Dean taught him, introducing himself as “Castiel.” 

He wonders why Cas does that. He’s seldom ever called anything but Cas, but always introduces himself as Castiel. Dean will have to ask him when all of his brain power isn’t taken up by counting each breath. 

With introductions out of the way, Jude leads them down the hall, taking a right which leads them down another hallway, before taking a left and stopping at an open door, the first of three. Jude and Cas forge ahead but Dean finds his iron feet a bit too heavy to lift all of the sudden. Cas stops a half second after Dean does, eyes doing a quick once over before settling on his face. “Do you need a moment?” And there he is, whispering again. 

Dean shakes his head even though he very much does need a moment. He needs several. He needs all of the moments. He shakes his head again, trying to clear the haze from his brain. 

He forces his body to move. It’s stiff and awkward and jerky but it’s forward momentum and sometimes that’s all you manage and it has to be okay because the other option is becoming stagnant and stale and trapped. 

They all cross the threshold. The overhead light is off but a lamp on the dark wooden desk is on and the windows are curtainless. It casts the room in a soft yellow glow. There’s a loveseat directly in front of the desk that Cas leads him to. He sits when Cas sits, feeling a bit like a robot. 

“It’s alright to feel uncertain, nearly everyone that sits in here is.” Jude tells Dean as he settles behind his desk. 

Dean nods, fairly certain he may have accidentally left his voice in the waiting room.

Jude nods in turn, understanding lighting his eyes.

“Alright, some ground rules. You’re the god of this small thing.” And there’s no way he can know just how poor his choice of words are but it kind of makes Dean want to laugh and he knows that Cas has picked up on it, too when he squeezes Dean’s hand. Jude continues. “We move at your pace here. I’m not going to make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. My job is to help you, to support you, and to empower you. I’m never going to tell you what to do or how to feel. Any questions?” 

Dean shakes his head. This is already not going the way that he’d worked up in his head. He thought there’d be a lot more kicking and screaming. Given, he just sat down so nothing is out of the cards just yet, but he wasn’t expecting so much grace to be extended to him. He really thought Jude was just gonna try and yank at the words that cling to Dean’s teeth, maybe come at his walls with a sledgehammer. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being surprised when gentleness is granted to him. 

“Great. So, what would you like to get out of this?” 

And at that, Dean can’t help the guffaw that escapes him. He hears Cas sigh as he squeezes Dean’s hand, equal parts fond and exasperated, it’s a sound that Dean knows well. 

Jude cracks a smile. “Got it. Am I wrong in assuming we have more than one thing you would like to accomplish?” 

Dean snorts in response this time. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Jude asks, leaning back in his chair. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“I don’t know. What do you want me to know?” 

“Honestly?” Dean questions, knowing good and well that Jude’s not gonna like his honest answer. 

“Honesty is a big part of this, so yes. Honestly.” 

“Fuckin’ nothing, man.” And this time when Cas squeezes his hand it reads as play nice. 

“Most people don’t, not at first at least. I’m a stranger. Why would you wanna tell me anything, let alone some of your most personal and traumatic moments and memories?” Jude responds, both looking and sounding entirely nonplussed at Dean’s response. 

Dean doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know how to. 

“Okay.” Jude starts, leaning forward over his desk. It makes Dean want to sit up straighter. He feels trapped like a bug under a microscope having all the attention on him. He doesn’t like it. 

“I’m a combat vet.” He continues without preamble. Dean feels himself go still, unable to prevent himself from conjuring up images of a brash and angry and lost John Winchester. 

“Once my deployment was over and I was home, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I didn’t know what I could do. All I knew is that I still wanted to help people and that I saw a lot of shit that altered who I was at a foundational level. I started seeing a therapist after a couple of months being home. I didn’t want to, didn’t think I needed to, was always told that talking about your feelings, asking for help with those feelings made you weak, but my parents were worried so I went to placate them. And it helped and I was surprised at how much it helped because we’d always been told that therapy was for the unstable, meant you couldn’t handle the job. You weren’t a real man if you were anything other than stoic.” 

Jude pauses for a moment, there’s a bird chirping close to the windows, just out of sight. Heard but not seen.

“So I went to tell the guys about how helpful it was. And they laughed and said they didn’t need it, that they were fine. That men don’t go to therapy because that’s pussy shit, and they were fine so they didn’t need it. And they were fine, on the outside at least. But then my buddy J.C. killed himself in a drunken, PTSD induced breakdown. No note, no nothing. We still don’t know if he meant to do it.” 

Dean’s chest feels tight in ways that have nothing to do with anxiety. Cas is still next to him. 

“I knew something had to change because I didn’t want to bury anymore friends, so I went back to school, got a degree in social work, and now here I am. That’s why I’m the trauma guy. First hand experience.” He pauses before continuing, “And now, hopefully, I’m a little less of a stranger to you.” His tone is far lighter than the subject matter. Not light as in not being serious, but light as in he has no problem talking about any of this. Light as in the words are easy to carry down from his brain to his mouth. Light because there’s nothing weighing them down. 

Dean’s mind is running a hundred miles an hour in dizzying circles.

The office is warm.

Someone who just might get it, get some of it, at least, is in front of him. Cas is next to him, bravery hanging in the air. Dean grabs some, not as much as he would like because his hands aren’t big enough to hold what he thinks he needs, but enough for now. He takes a deep breath, looking at Cas. He has some unreadable expression in his eyes, but only for a moment before his features transform into something soft. 

“I don’t know where to start.” Dean hates how small he sounds, but he doesn’t know how to take up space in this room yet. Doesn’t know how to let his emotions fill the space around him. 

“You can start wherever you want, but most people find it helpful to start at the beginning.” Jude tells him, face open and neutral. 

Dean can do this. He has to do this. 

“So. It’s uh- it’s always really just been me and my brother, Sam. Our mom died in a house fire when I was four-” 

Dean’s fucking drained when they get home, he didn’t even do that much. He just gave a vague timeline of his greatest trauma hits. He feels like he’s hungover, regardless. He just wants to lie down with Cas and sleep for an unreasonable amount of time. He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to do that quite yet. 

“Oh, hey.” Sam says, looking up from his laptop when they enter the kitchen. He looks a bit dazed, there’s no telling how long he’s been staring at the screen. Sam can be incredibly one track minded at times, which is great until it isn’t, and now is one of those times where it isn’t. 

Dean grunts in acknowledgement, eyes cast downward. He has zero appetite but was going to make dinner for Cas because even though he’s exhausted his body isn’t ready to slow down just yet. He has trouble with that sometimes, feeling like he always has to be doing something. 

“Dude, are you good? Where have you been? You look like shit.” Sam questions, looking at Dean through narrowed eyes. 

Dean scoffs, looking at Sam. Really looking at him. As much as he’s doing this for Cas, he’s doing it for Sam, too. Sam deserves better than what Dean’s ever been able to give. A part of him doesn’t want to tell Sam the truth right now because he’ll just make a big deal out of it and the last thing Dean wants right now is to have even more attention paid to him. 

“Yeah, man. I’m fine.” He responds, turning his back on Sam so he can start pulling the stuff needed for dinner out of the cabinets. 

“You don’t look fine. You okay?” 

Dean’s emotional threshold is practically nonexistent at this point, as is his patience. Dean knows that Sam’s gonna meddle until he gets the answers he wants. 

“Sam-” Cas starts, surely to gently tell Sam to mind his business or to wait until Dean is ready to talk about it, but Dean interrupts him. 

“Therapy, Sam. I was at therapy. I went to see a fuckin’ therapist.” Dean’s staring at the counter when he says this, he doesn’t think he can look at anyone right now, not if they want him to talk about this. 

“I don’t know why you- wait? Did you say therapy? Like therapy, therapy?” Does Sam have to sound so shocked? 

Dean hears Cas sigh and can picture the exact expression on his face, an incredible mix of disgruntled exasperation and vague disapproval.  

“Yes.” 

“You went to see a therapist?” 

“Yes, Sam.” 

“Like a talk about your fucked up childhood therapist?” 

“No, a pelvic floor therapist.” 

“We have those around here?” 

Cas interjects at the same time to ask, “Why would a pelvic floor require therapy?”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy, yes. I went to see an honest to God talk-about-my-fucked-up-childhood therapist.” Dean turns to Cas, tone far less annoyed than with Sam, “I don’t know, Cas. Childbirth is the main reason, I think. Babies do fucked up things to your insides sometimes.” 

“Ah. I told God His punishment for the apple was terribly unjust and unreasonable, He wouldn’t listen to me. Although, I suppose now in retrospect it makes sense that He thought that to be reasonable and justifiable.” 

Sam has a slightly dumbfounded look on his face, the same one he always wears when Cas shares something monumental and cosmic with startling casualty. The kitchen is silent in the space following. Dean doesn’t want to be the one to break it. He’s not entirely sure he even knows how to break it for something like this. 

The energy in the room shifts as Sam directs his attention back to Dean, “You uh- you went to therapy?” Voice bordering hoarse this time. 

Dean wants to respond with something about how he’s said that three times already, but this is one of those whisper moments, and sarcasm would definitely ruin that. 

“Yeah, I did. Um- made the appointment a few weeks ago, didn’t say anything though, in case I was too chicken-shit to actually go.” Dean responds in kind. 

“Weeks ago.” Sam repeats feebly, “This is huge, Dean. Why- why didn’t you tell me?” And he’s not doing as good of a job at masking the hurt in his voice as he probably thinks he is. 

Dean’s stomach drops. He swallows. 

“It’s not that big of a deal, man. Hell, I didn’t know if I was actually going to go through with it. I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. I mean- I didn’t even tell Cas until today and I probably wouldn’t have mentioned it at all until the whole thing was over with but I uh-” Dean trails off, he can feel the words starting to stick to his teeth. He takes a moment to take a breath and recenter himself. He’s much quieter when he speaks again, “I didn’t want to go alone. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, just didn’t want to let you down.” 

“This is a big deal, Dean. I’ve been trying to get you to talk to someone for like a decade and you’ve been dismissive and a dick about it every single time I tried. What changed?”

What has changed?

It’s something Dean hasn’t considered before now even though he probably should have. 

He thinks about everything he’s been through. Life and death and heaven and literal hell and cosmic war and loss on top of loss on top of loss. It’s more than that, though. He thinks back to what Cas said, about people containing multitudes. About how fear and hope are symbiotic, equally motivating in their driving factors. About how both are born from love. 

He looks at Cas who is now studying him with quiet wonder, Dean’s sure he’s been curious about the same thing, why now? Dean stares at the floor between them as he works through the spirals in his head. He knows this is a revolutionary development in his everything. It’s strange to Dean that Cas is unaware of his motivation for doing what was previously considered to be a lost cause. Does Cas honestly not know that everything, everything, Dean does is for him? It’s all for him, it’s always been for him. 

You. Dean thinks to himself, it’s you. You’ve changed me. You’ve made me want to be the man you think I am. 

He shifts his attention to Sam for just a moment before his eyes slide back to Cas. He offers a soft smile when their eyes meet; they’re still looking at each other when Dean answers.

“I did.”

It’s a few months later when Dean finds himself anxiously pacing in the kitchen, trying to dispel some of the growing agitation ricocheting around in his body as he waits for Sam to get home. He’s trying to keep his body in motion so he doesn’t stop and try to drink himself into a stupor. It’s not like he’d be able to, not without having to make the decision to leave and drive all the way to the liquor store and back. It’d give him a whole lot of time to contemplate his actions and feel the guilt that comes with acting on them.

There’s not a drop of alcohol on the premises and there hasn’t been for thirty-six days because it’d been thirty-seven days since his last drink. 

When Dean told Sam that he was going to stop drinking altogether after it was determined by Jude there’s a strong chance he’d never be able to drink casually again, Sam and Cas had poured everything down the drain and all three of them had pretended like that weren’t tears in their eyes as they were doing it. 

Despite the time and distance between Dean and his last drink, his hands frequently and instinctively reach for the bottle all the same. He hadn’t known it was going to be this hard. He’s just gotten to where he can be a somewhat productive and contributing, functional member of society again. The first two weeks had been awful and the first week had been horrific. Cold sweat and chills and vomiting and anxiety and fatigue and worse than usual exhaustion. Hand in lovable hand, Cas had sat a constant vigil with Dean through it all. A nearly unending stream of comfort and praise flowing from his lips. 

He’d been home from therapy for a little while now. Cas was with Max at a bee farm about an hour outside of town. Dean may or may not have conspired with her to make sure that Cas was out of the house so he could talk to Sam. Dean has a sinking suspicion that he’ll be the reluctant part-owner of several thousand bees sometime in the near future, but it’ll be worth it. 

Dean hears Sam before he sees him, stopping his pacing to listen to the approaching footsteps. 

“Hey.” Sam calls, nodding in Dean’s direction before heading to the fridge to pull out some sorta fuckin’ fancy sparkling water he’s been drinking in excess these days. 

Dean nods back, trying to school his thoughts into something more cohesive. He’d worked on this practically his entire session today, and for several sessions leading up to this. 

“I wanna ask Cas to marry me.” Dean had blurted out the second he sat down. He’d been seeing Jude for a couple of months at this point and while Cas still went with him to his appointments, he no longer had to literally hold his hand during them.

The first appointment where Dean was able to go in by himself he’d told Jude that the biggest reason he was sitting on that unassuming, mass-produced beige loveseat was because he wanted to be the person Cas thought he was, which had then prompted Jude to ask who that person was. 

“I dunno. Good, I guess. Cas says I’m selfless and self-sacrificing to a fault.”

“And what do you think?” 

“About what?” 

“About yourself.” 

Dean had faltered at that. What does he think about himself? 

“I think that Cas gives me a bit too much credit sometimes. He has a tendency to overlook the real shitty things I’ve done. He only ever sees the ‘good’ in me, whatever the hell that means.” 

“Do you see the good or the bad when you look at him?” 

“The good. Bad and Cas never made the best of bedfellows.” Dean grins to himself before saying, “Dude’s practically a saint.” 

Jude had studied him for a moment before speaking. “So, when it comes to the ‘real shitty’ things you’ve done, does Cas actually overlook them, never acknowledging them? Or has he simply forgiven you for them even though you’ve been unable to forgive yourself? Do you think he only sees the ‘good’ because there is more good than bad to see?”

The only thing Dean had been able to think in that moment was ‘oh fuck off.’ 

When he doesn’t answer, Jude forges on, “And I asked you what you think about yourself, not what Cas thinks about you.” 

That had been an excruciatingly long session. He knew that he didn’t like himself, but to have to say every single thing he didn’t like out loud? Dean had cried both in the office and later that night when he was tucked in bed with Cas, unable to fall asleep. Cas did what he had always done, pulled Dean into him and whispered words of reassurance until Dean finally succumbed to exhaustion. 

“You want to marry Cas.” Jude had repeated back. That’s most of what therapy was, actually. Dean saying something that Jude would parrot back until either a) Dean said more and together they were able to work to the root of what made him feel and or think that way or b) Dean would realize how stupid what he’d just said was and work through it on his own. It was helping him more than he wanted to admit. 

He’d been miserable most of his life and there’s a comfort in it, a predictability to it. When all else fails, when there is nothing else, there’s always misery. When he was all but numb the misery served as something he could poke at until it bruised and bled and hurt. Sometimes it was the only way Dean could reassure himself that even if he wasn’t actually living, he was alive. Regardless of how he felt about that particular detail at the time. Dean doesn’t know who he is without the darkness that hangs over him and in him, but he’s trying to learn. 

“Yeah. I’ve known for a while. And I think Cas knows, too. In a way, at least. He knows that I don’t see an end date when it comes to us. But he deserves more than that from me. He deserves to know- just how much I love him. The stupid bastard picked me to give his all to when it’s fuckin’ impossible for me to get my brain to work well enough to give him some.” Dean’s looking at his shoes and picking at one of his cuticles as he says this. He still has a hard time meeting Jude’s eyes sometimes. 

“Do you think he doubts your love?” 

Dean takes a moment to consider before answering, “No. Not for a long time. And what happened a long time ago was kinda a once in a lifetime scenario.” It’s honestly baffling how many once-in-a-lifetime scenarios Dean’s been in. Makes the phrase lose its meaning a bit. 

“So what’s making you hesitate in asking him? Do you think he’d say no?” Jude questions. 

Dean shifts his gaze from his feet to the window. “I don’t know, I don’t think so. I just- how will I know when I’m ready?” 

“What do you think you have to be ready for? You love him, don’t you?” 

Dean nods. 

“And you said you don’t see your future progressing without him in it, correct?” 

He nods again. 

“It sounds like you’re ready to me.” 

Dean opens his mouth to argue but no words fall out. He can think of so many reasons for why what Jude said isn’t true that they form a traffic jam in his brain and all of his words are stuck in a gridlock. 

“If you wait until you think you’re ready, until it’s the ‘perfect time’ so to speak, you’re going to be waiting for the rest of your life, Dean. There is no perfect time, no perfect plan, no perfect and righteous path.” 

“Dude, you good? You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.” Sam questions before he takes a moment to look around the kitchen. “And where’s Cas? Did he not take you to therapy today?” 

“No he did. He dropped me off. He’s with Max looking at bees.” 

“Who the hell is Max?” Sam asks, brow furrowed. 

“You know Max. The girl who works at the garden center.” Dean clarifies quickly, afraid that if he doesn’t power through what he wants to tell Sam that he’s going to lose steam and he doesn’t know when he’ll get the strength to do this again. 

“Oh, right. Sorry.” 

“Listen, Sammy. I gotta tell you something, but you have to promise that you’ll let me get it all out before you and your big mouth start trying to play twenty-questions with me.” Dean had started pacing again about halfway through speaking but stops mid-step to look Sam in the eyes. 

“I don’t have a big mouth.” Sam retorts, practically fucking pouting. 

Dean raises a brow in response. 

Sam sighs. “Fine. Tell me whatever it is you want to tell me and I’ll promise to keep my big mouth shut until you’re done.” 

The anxious agitation has returned, as has the pacing with it. Dean takes a couple of breaths before saying it all so quickly it sounds like one long word, “I’mgoingtoaskCastomarryme.” 

It’s impressive how Sam manages to go so still when he wasn’t even moving to begin with. 

“I’m going to ask Cas to marry me and I’m telling you now because you’re my brother and I want you to know and also because I don’t want to live here at the bunker forever. I want a house and a porch and a yard and a garden for Cas and several thousand bees, probably. So I’m asking Cas to marry me and I wanna live someplace that has windows.” Dean exhales, giving himself a moment to school his thoughts before he continues. This is already going better than he thought it would. He’s not on the floor having some sort of nervous breakdown. Progress. 

“Bees?” Sam questions, voice riddled with confusion. 

“You said you wouldn’t interrupt.” 

“Right, sorry. Guess we’re breezing right past the bee thing. Continue.” 

Dean stops pacing to throw a slightly incredulous look Sam’s way. “I tell you I want to marry Cas and move out to create a queer version of the nuclear family and the bees are the most shocking part about all of that to you?” 

“Well, yeah. Although now I’d say the most shocking part is your use of the word queer.” 

Dean stares at him, unable to keep his mouth from hanging open slightly. 

Sam responds by furrowing his brow, giving him a look that asks ‘what?’ as he shrugs his shoulders. 

“I’ve literally been having sex with a man for the better part of a year and you’re shocked that I used the word queer? The fuck else am I supposed to call it?” Dean’s voice isn’t quite a yell as he throws his hands up in exasperation, but it’s a near thing. 

“Jesus, Dean. I don’t want to hear about your sex life.” Sam responds, face pinched. 

“Oh, well now you’re just being homophobic.” 

“Dean.”

“What?” 

“You, Cas, getting married. Wanna tell me more about that?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Dean says, trying to get his thoughts back on track. “I mean, that’s pretty much it.” 

“You say that like this isn’t a huge deal.” Sam responds.

Dean shrugs, trying not to squirm under his brother’s gaze. “It’s really not. People get married all the time.”

“Yeah. Normal people, Dean.” 

“Am I not normal?” Dean fires back, more defensive than necessary. 

“No, you’re not. And neither am I. And neither is Cas. You’re talking about getting married to not only a literal angel, but the literal angel that pulled you out of literal hell. There’s not much that’s normal about that because there’s not much that’s normal about us.” 

Dean doesn’t respond. He hates it when Sam is right. The silence stretches between them. It’s not uncomfortable, as far as silences go. It’s just heavy. Heavy because it’s important, rather than because it’s suffocating. 

Sam is looking at him intently, eyes softer than Dean’s seen them in a very long time. 

“When are you gonna ask him?” 

Dean hasn’t actually thought that far ahead. He should probably figure that out. And how to ask him. And where to ask him. And a ring. He probably needs to get a ring. 

He shrugs in response, “I’m not sure yet. Soon, I guess.” 

Sam studies him for a moment. “You’re getting married.” And he sounds kind of like he’s in disbelief. 

“You don’t have to sound so shocked, man. Surely you didn’t think I was gonna be single forever?” 

Sam snorts. “Single? No. Married with a white picket fence? Yeah, that’s a little shocking. I thought after Lisa you’d sworn off the whole ‘apple-pie’ life thing.” 

Dean tries to suppress the wave of sadness that washes over him whenever he thinks about Lisa and Ben. It’s better now, easier. Having Cas in his life has filled a number of holes he didn’t even know he had. He’d never told anyone, not even Cas- but he’d always wanted to be a dad. He’d thought his one and only chance had been during that year with Lisa, but now… He probably needs to have a conversation with Cas. Soon. 

“I thought I had, too.” Dean eventually responds. 

“What changed your mind?” 

Dean considers giving Sam some bullshit answer, that way he doesn’t have to be vulnerable, but he closes his eyes for a moment instead. He looks at Sam when he opens them again. 

“Cas did. He’s changed just about every damn thing about me.” 

“I don’t think that’s exactly true. You’re still the same asshole you’ve always been, the only difference is you’re happy now. Happiness changes things.” 

Cas and happiness are intrinsically tied for Dean. Two things that cannot be separated. 

“Like I said, Cas changed a lot for me.” 

Dean’s still got some leftover anxiety by the time Cas gets home a couple of hours later. 

He’s laying down in their room trying to work through the number of breathing exercises he’s learned about recently when Cas finds him. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean’s stomach starts doing funny things. Logically he knows there’s no way Cas can know about the conversation he had with Sam, but emotion has an impressive ability to overcome logic. He feels like his earlier conversation is written across his forehead. 

He cracks one eye open to see Cas still standing in the doorway. Dean has a thought. He wants to just ignore it, but he knows that he shouldn’t. He goes against instinct. 

“C’mere” 

“What, Dean?” Cas answers with mock-annoyance. 

“Just come here. Please?” 

Just as Cas can get Dean to do just about anything with a simple for me, Dean can usually get Cas hook, line, and sinker with please. This time is no exception. Cas rolls his eyes but comes into the room, anyway, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the door as he does. He doesn’t wear the trench coat as often anymore, but it still hangs in the back of their closet. Dean pulls it out and sits with it in his hands whenever he’s feeling particularly sad. There’s something comforting about it. A reminder of where he’s been. A symbol of where he’s going. 

Cas sits on the edge of the bed and raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

“You, um. You know how Jude told me I gotta give myself permission to ask for and accept help or whatever?” Dean says the latter half of the sentence to the ceiling, realizing that he’s not gonna be able to ask Cas if he actually has to look at him. 

“I believe what he actually said was that you needed to allow yourself to ask for the things you want and or need, but yes, I do know.” 

It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, same thing. Well today he um- he said something about ‘deep pressure’ to help with my uh- my anxiety.” 

Dean should have known that anxiety has something he had, but getting an actual diagnosis had been somewhat shocking. A lot of the things he’s learned about himself recently have been somewhat shocking, actually. 

“Yes. Deep pressure therapy. It’s most beneficial for those with ADHD, PTSD, anxiety, and autism.”

Dean lifts up his head to look at Cas, who must be able to practically read Dean’s mind because he shrugs before saying, “I’ve been spending a lot of time looking up different therapy methods.” 

Of course he has Dean thinks fondly. 

“Right. Well, he was explaining it to me today. It seems interesting.” Dean shifts his attention back to the ceiling. He hopes Cas can read between the lines. He’s still not the greatest at asking for things, but he’s getting pretty okay at leaving hints and clues for what he may want. Progress. 

“It is interesting. The human body and all its mechanisms are fascinating.” 

Okay, maybe Cas isn’t reading between the lines for this one. It looks like Dean’s just going to have to be a man and suck it up so he can ask Cas to lay on top of him and give him a fucking hug or something. 

“Remember what I said about working on asking for things?” 

“Yes.” 

He can’t help but let out a chuckle at that. 

“This is me asking for help, Cas.” 

“Oh.” 

Dean actually laughs at that. Fondness blooms in his chest over Cas’ sheepish look, it overflows when a smile plays at the corners of Cas’ lips. 

Dean loves him. 

“There are a few different methods. Which would you like to try?” 

“I dunno.” Dean hadn’t actually put that much thought into it because he didn’t think he would actually get this far. He still finds himself being a little shocked when he actually succeeds in pulling his words from his teeth or when he overcomes the Thing that lives in his chest. But as Jude frequently tells him, progress isn’t linear so he tries not to feel frustration when he doesn’t know how to convince the words that’ll ask Cas for what he wants and needs to come out of hiding.

Cas is studying him intently, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly. Dean’s getting better at not feeling so squeamish under his gaze, and because of this monumental leap for Dean-kind, he’s able to see understanding light up Cas’ face. A moment later he’s bending over, before Dean can start to wonder what Cas is doing down there, he hears the unmistakable sound of one shoe, then another hitting the ground. A moment after that, Cas is practically crawling over to him, effectively making Dean short circuit for a moment. 

Before his brain can come fully back online Cas has thrown one leg over Dean’s middle his knees are touching Dean’s hips as he hovers, caging Dean in with his arms. Cas ducks his head to press his lips to Dean’s before moving to his temple and whispering “Close your eyes.” 

Dean does so immediately and without question. He knows he can trust Cas to guide him sightless into the unknown. Cas is the only one- his outstretched hands and upturned palms are the only things that Dean has ever been able to put his unseeing faith into. He thinks this is one of those moments where feeling is more important than seeing, anyway. 

So he feels Cas snake his arms under his body where he lays and he feels Cas lower himself so they are chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, breath to breath and he feels Cas tighten his arms around his middle and he feels Cas’ stubble against his cheek and he feels the anxiety start to slowly but surely dissipate into wherever it goes when it’s not causing a ruckus in his chest and he feels safe and he feels warm and he feels loved. 

He feels okay. He feels better than okay, he feels good. 

Dean feels peace.  

It’s months later when he gets a ring. 

It’s not actually for Cas, he’s going to give Cas the thin gold band that was one of the only things that remained of his mother. Dean has very faint memories of seeing her wear it on a chain around her neck, he mainly remembers the way it would reflect light when it got caught in the sun. It feels like the best fit for Cas. 

The ring he purchased was done so with the intention for it to be his. When Dean finally decided to get his head out of his ass and grab handfuls of the bravery that lingers around Cas and propose instead of pussyfooting around waiting for the perfect moment, his anxiety over the when part of the question had been quickly replaced by the how portion of the question. 

After several somewhat frantic Google searches about how queer people get engaged (gender roles and cultural norms made this process a little more stressful than what Dean thought was strictly necessary), he’d eventually given up after finding no definitive or satisfactory answers and just called Charlie instead. 

He called Charlie because she’d dubbed herself his “Gay Guide” when he’d told her about wanting to make a move on Cas. He’d told her that he’s liked men for as long as can remember and this isn’t his first rodeo. Cas is definitely the most meaningful and important one by far, but not the first. That didn’t matter to her. 

Charlie had just rolled her eyes at Dean’s response and told him that the queer experience is a little different once the closet door is shut for good. Look, I know that wanting what you think you don’t deserve or can’t have is fundamentally and inherently queer, but angsty pining isn’t all there is to it. Queer joy exists in abundance, regardless of what they put on screen. This life isn’t just queerbaiting and burying your gays, Dean. You’re allowed to want and to have and to be happy. You’re allowed to be an aged and happy Dean Winchester with Cas still at your side forty years from now. 

Her impromptu speech had ended with her saying that cultural norms and gender roles don’t mean squat when it comes to queer relationships so he could ignore everything completely and just do what felt right for him and Cas. 

So he did what felt right and got another ring. Two rings puts them on an equal playing field. It’s Dean’s way of showing Cas that he’s just as much Cas’ as Cas is his. Whatever stuff souls are made from, his and Cas’ are the same. They are two halves of one whole. They are inevitable and infinite. 

Dean should have known when Cas first laid a hand on him in hell that this was it. Cas is going to forever be his firsts and lasts. Dean has laid down his weapons for and because of Cas and would cast himself prostrate at the feet of his savior if it meant he would know Dean’s faith is in him and him alone. There are other ways to proclaim faith. Dean seeks to learn them all and for once in his life, feels himself to be a successful student. 

Once the ring was acquired and another conversation with Sam had, the rest of the planning was easy. 

Dean makes off-handed mention of wanting to take a road-trip sometime soon. Sam immediately expresses interest as well, and at that Cas had smiled at Dean and simply said, “Where you go, I will follow.” 

It’d taken an incredible amount of strength not to pop the question right then and there. Dean’s restraint was bolstered by Sam making fake gagging noises when the doe eyes started. Cas’ laugh filled the kitchen. 

Dean loves him. 

They throw together a quick plan, not wanting to feel restricted and wanting to get the show on the road. Poor Cas doesn’t know that Sam will conveniently be unable to go at the last minute, coming down with a stomach bug or coming across a ghost or coming up with his own plan for the weekend. 

And it’s truly a shame Sam won’t be able to join them. Dean hears Illinois is lovely this time of year. 

It’s four months later and the smell of damp earth floats about. Dean used to hate the smell- it reminded him of graves and ghosts and bones and a death truly everlasting. He loves it now- it reminds him of life and love and home and Cas who is all of those things and more. 

Max is standing behind the counter, smiling at Dean’s approach. “Here I was thinking that you’d finally made good on your empty threats of finding a new garden center. I haven’t seen you in a while. Where’ve you been, stranger?” 

She comes out from behind the counter when Dean is a few steps away, he comes to a stop at her side. 

“Awe, you miss me?” He asks, mirth in every syllable. 

“Maybe, maybe not. Where’s your better half?” 

Dean knows a deflection when he sees one. He lets her have it. 

“At home, preparing for the bees to be delivered.” Dean answers. He’s not the biggest fan of them, not since that case where he was swarmed by them in someone’s attic, but he’s a big fan of Cas and Cas is a big fan of bees and an even bigger fan of the idea of making the sprawling backyard of the farmhouse they’d just finished moving into a sanctuary for all things that buzz or fly. 

“Sorry about that.” Max says, having the decency to look at least a little sheepish. 

Dean waves her off, “Nah. Don’t worry about it. Would’ve happened eventually. But that’s where we’ve been. Hauling shit to the new place.”

“I’m glad you got it. I’m sure Cas is happy.” And her words are genuine and warm and make Dean reach into his back pocket to pull out an off-white envelope. 

He laughs through his nose, “You have no idea. Here, this is for you.” He tells her, stretching out his hand. 

“What’s this?” She looks suspicious. 

“Just open it.” Dean responds, rolling his eyes. 

She narrows her eyes and raises a brow, “Is this from Cas?” 

“It’s from both of us.” 

She gives him one more doubtful look before turning the envelope over, face softening the moment she sees the wax seal on the back. Her fingers make gentle work of it, keeping it whole and attached. She pulls out the sage cardstock slower than Dean thinks it’s necessary but the moment she realizes what’s in her hands her face lights up as her eyes dance back and forth between what’s in her hands and Dean. 

“Really?” And why does she sound emotional? 

“Yes, really.” Why does Dean sound emotional? 

“Oh my God.” Her eyes shift back to her hands, and she’s smiling wide as she reads aloud, “Together with their loved ones, your presence is requested to witness Dean and Castiel finally get hitched. ”