Chapter Text
Every day that Castiel wakes up next to Dean is another day that he counts among his blessings. For all his rough, though exceedingly beautiful, exterior and the tough mask he wears, Dean has the gentlest soul of anyone he’s ever met. And Castiel reminds himself every day how lucky he is that Dean shares that with him.
It only shows on the surface rarely, in private, where there’s nobody else to see and nobody else to judge. It appears in the way Dean wakes up slowly, nuzzling into Castiel and wrapping around him like an octopus, and makes grumpy sounds when Castiel tries to disentangle them. It shows up in the way Dean soaps his hair into a mohawk and sings horribly off-key Taylor Swift while in the shower. It appears with his students, the ones who struggle or need extra help.
Castiel’s favorite, however, is the way that Dean looks at him. It may be selfish, but Castiel craves the borderline reverential way Dean gazes at him from across a crowded room, or waking up to see Dean’s gentle smile. Dean touches him as if he’s the most precious thing in the world, and Castiel is hooked on the feeling.
So yes, when Castiel wakes up wrapped around Dean, with the younger man’s hair ticking his chest, he considers himself blessed, and this day is no different. The angels have long since won their rebellion, Castiel can allow himself these hours to devote to Dean.
Dean grumbles a little in his sleep, arms tightening around Castiel, and Cas reaches up to comb through his hair with his fingers. He revels in the way Dean relaxes into his touch, settling in his sleep. He’s a little heavy where he’s settled on Castiel’s chest, but Cas will bear it for the joy of being able to hold his witch safe in his arms for a little longer.
The sun streams in through the windows, lighting the tips of Dean’s hair a golden blond, and highlighting the freckles that smatter his cheeks and nose. Castiel relishes the opportunity to be awake before Dean, and watch him sleep.
There’s a softening to his face, and the worry and responsibility drains away when Dean sleeps. Or, at least, when Dean sleeps peacefully, like now. When they first started dating, Castiel had taken Dean’s reluctance to stay the night as a sign of his lack of commitment to their relationship, rather than something internalized in Dean. That or Dean still being scared of him snapping again and terrorizing him, despite his assurances that he’s forgiven him. Dean hadn’t even considered that Castiel would want him to stay the night, let alone believing that Cas would be willing to stay with him afterwards.
The first time they slept in the same bed, Castiel had woken sometime during the night. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, not easily bothered by the small night-time disturbances that are common in ancient churches; thus he was a little more than peeved to have woken up before morning. Castiel noted the lack of Dean in the bed with him, taking it as yet another sign of Dean’s lack of honesty, and was just about to go back to sleep when he heard the first whimper.
It was quiet but desperate, as if the person making such a sound would rather be screaming, but couldn’t. He had sat bold upright, switching on the bedside light to find the source of the awful sound, only to find Dean. Dean who had reluctantly allowed Castiel to cuddle into him before falling asleep. Dean who laughed and joked and was brash and loud and confident. The Dean who took the time to listen to Castiel rant about the angels and their ongoing rebellion and lull him back into happiness.
That Dean was curled up on the floor next to Castiel’s bed, unconsciously making himself as small as possible, trembling and making some of the most heart-breaking noises Castiel had ever heard.
It was the night it all clicked into place. It was the night Castiel got a glimpse of Dean underneath the charming mask he wore, the witch still trying to save Castiel the guilt of his beating. As awful as it was to find the man he was in love with in such emotional turmoil and in such obvious pain, it allowed Castiel to help. He made a vow to never allow Dean to be hurt in such a way again. In finding out the real reason why Dean was so worried about staying the night, Castiel learnt to stop making assumptions about his boyfriend and start asking why he had certain eccentricities. It taught Castiel that there was far more to Dean Winchester than met the eye, and that he might spend forever trying to unravel the mystery.
Since that horrifying first night where Castiel was forced to examine his own prejudices, things have gotten better. Dean doesn’t wake early and immediately, but instead trusts Castiel enough to languish in the drowsy half-asleep state he prefers. They can have lazy Sunday mornings, and hurried Wednesday mornings where Dean’s distracted them both to the point where they’re running late.
The past hasn’t vanished, but they’re moving forward.
And now, of course, Castiel gets to hold Dean in the mornings, and watch his contradictory, impossible, precious, soon-to-be-husband sleep.
He plants a gentle kiss to the top of Dean’s head, and resumes stroking through his hair.
“Hello, Dean,” he says, as Dean’s eyes flutter open sleepily.
“’m not a cat, y’know,” Dean mumbles into Castiel’s chest. He leans into the touch anyway.
“You most certainly are not; far too talkative to be a feline,” Castiel smiles. He gives Dean a tender kiss which is enthusiastically reciprocated.
“What time is it?” Dean asks, flopping back down onto Castiel’s chest.
“Some time after nine.”
Dean groans, scrunching his nose in disgust. It’s completely adorable, and Castiel has to resist the urge to kiss it, as Dean did to him when he took the witch flying for the first time.
“Why are we up so early, Cas?” he grumbles. He shuts his eyes tight again and buries himself in Castiel’s arms.
Usually it’s Cas who needs to be coaxed out of bed, but on occasion Castiel has to return the favor. Today appears to be one such day.
“So it’s all my fault then? Nothing at all to do with your student’s graduation,” Castiel teases, nudging Dean in the ribs.
Dean’s lips twitch upwards. “Nope. All you. I blame you entirely for this mess.”
“Mess? Oh, I’m sorry, are you retrospectively retracting your agreement to show me off to all the faculty and get Bela Talbot to stop ogling you.”
Dean opens his eyes at that, sitting up and twisting to face Castiel.
“Never,” he says, softly. “Even if my fiancé is making me get up at this godforsaken hour."
Castiel represses a laugh, choosing to watch Dean shake off his sleepiness instead.
“Okay, I’ll grab a quick shower. I think I can trust you to amuse yourself for the next five minutes.” Dean’s look turns speculative. “Unless, of course, you feel like joining me?”
Castiel sighs. He’s shamelessly overindulged this morning, watching Dean sleep and musing on their early relationship instead of waking his almost-husband. On any other day, he’d be only too eager to join Dean, savoring the view of the water cascading over his naked body: watching it run over his toned arms, and his soft stomach. His cock gives an appreciative twitch at the thought, but Castiel can’t let it get further than that. On any other day, Castiel would take the opportunity to worship at the altar of Dean Winchester, but today they have somewhere to be.
“I know,” Dean says, spotting Castiel’s inner battle. “If you come too we’ll end up fucking ‘til the hot water runs out.”
Castiel has to stifle a groan at Dean’s words. Dean is undeniably attractive. It was, in all honesty, what originally drew Castiel to him. The beautiful professor in his office. Dean has only become more exquisite since.
He gives Castiel a quick kiss before sliding out of bed and heading for the shower. Castiel’s eyes follow hungrily, taking in the rippling muscles of Dean’s back, the soft swell of his ass, and his adorable bow legs. He’s about 90% sure that Dean gives a little shimmy on purpose, swinging his hips a little wider than normal, but it could be his imagination. Dean could be a complete shit sometimes. But Castiel loved him for it, knew it before getting together.
Castiel eventually finds the inner-strength to roll out of bed, slipping on a comfortable pair of pajama pants before heading downstairs to start the coffee. He know better than to attempt cooking breakfast, his attempts usually ending in fire or inedible results. If he listens carefully, he can hear Dean singing Metallica in the shower.
Dean’s fine, most days. It’s rare that he looks at Castiel with fear anymore, or worry. Every so often the witch flinches at the memory of Castiel’s hands on him, and spends the next day apologizing the same way he does after a nightmare.
Castiel is not sure it will ever entirely vanish. The subconscious is a strange and mysterious place and with Dean’s understandable terror of ever connecting soul and grace, there is only time left to prove Castiel’s devotion to him. He cannot imagine a world in which he ever lashes out at Dean in anger, or the need for control and possession. He would rather die than have his hands become the instrument of destruction Dean fears.
Dean appears from the bathroom, hair damp, and glowing with health and happiness. He seems to sense Castiel’s mood immediately, moving close and drawing him into a kiss.
Castiel leans into the touch, pulling Dean closer so that they’re buried in each other’s arms. Dean smells clean, the faint smell of soap clinging to his skin.
“You’re kind of scaring me Cas,” he says, planting a soft kiss to the top of Castiel’s head.
“Sorry for worrying you,” Castiel whispers.
He pulls backwards, taking Dean’s hand in his own and leading him to the kitchen.
“Let me get us both coffee, and we can talk about it,” he tells Dean.
He wants Dean safe and happy and wrapped in his arms. Always. There’s no quick fix, no going around the fact that his witch is suffering from a lifetime of trauma, of which Castiel’s beating is the tip of the iceberg.
It’s almost a year to the day and the world has changed. Angels freely mix with the rest of the population, Naomi is their elected representative. Castiel didn’t vote for her, but then again, he prefers Dean’s company and those of his friends he made in his exile to angels.
Crowley and Abaddon are still duking it out over control of the underworld and April has all but vanished off the face of the planet. Dean’s fear is the only thing marring an otherwise perfect existence.
Coffee steaming, he passes Dean a cup and leans back against the counter.
“You’re still scared sometimes,” he says quietly.
Dean looks away from a second, hand tightening around his mug. “Yeah, I am. Sometimes your eyes catch the light and they glint the same way they did when I got hurt. I know it wasn’t you,” he says. He’s completely certain of his words. There’s no doubt there. Perhaps Castiel truly is forgiven.
“Oh,” Castiel replies.
“Oh indeed. Cas, I got issues far beyond whatever angelic meddling made you snap. It’s not always you,” Dean smiles softly.
It makes sense. Dean has been a part of more wars than Castiel likes to think about. He has decades of violence and anger in his past, the angel may have taken Dean’s rare moments of hesitation more personally than they were about.
The witch moves into his space, electrifying the air between them with his very presence. He leans in, just past his ear and whispers, “I could destroy you if you even tried to hurt me.”
Castiel can’t hide his shiver, fear mixing with desire. Dean doesn’t often let out his dominant side, preferring Castiel to take the lead in the bedroom, but on days like this, when Castiel’s head is doubting and his worries drown out all common sense, Dean enjoys taking Castiel apart. They’ve found some very creative uses for the angel defense spells Dean’s been practicing and developing. It puts them back on an even power-level.
Dean pulls back and Castiel lets out a little groan of lust.
The witch grins wide and happy at the result of his work.
“Get in the shower Cas. We have a ceremony to get to,” he rumbles, slapping Castiel on the ass as he passes.
“Can I kiss you right now?”
Dean nods, blushing a little as he always does when Castiel asks. As their lips touch, Dean lets out the very tiniest of sighs. His hands come up to cup Dean’s face as their kiss deepens, drawing them closer together. As they break apart, they keep their foreheads together, just breathing in time and taking comfort in their closeness.
Something in Castiel’s heart settles down. Dean is fine. The reminder that not everything is Castiel’s fault is an important one and one that he needed.
With everything that has happened, Castiel will forever be grateful for Dean. He is the love of his life, and he can’t find it in himself to regret a single moment of it.