Archive of Our Own ^beta

People don't understand the nature of Dean's relationship with Castiel.

Which is fair, because it's an odd one. As an angel, Castiel doesn't feel and process things the same way a human does.

Because of this, Dean believed for the longest time that he didn't matter to Cas. At least, not in the same way that Cas mattered to him. And so he was able to brush off the stares, the unnecessary lingering touch when he would heal or transport Dean, the disregard for personal space but only Dean's personal space. Able to pretend it didn't send his heart fluttering or his chest tightening with emotions he refused to examine too closely.

Until, that is, Cas starts pushing.

It was small at first. A possessive hand on his lower back. Fingers curled around his, calloused palms brushing together. Fingertips trailing along his shoulders in passing. Small things that sent electricity sputtering through Dean and made his breaths go shallow.

One night, after a few too many shots of whiskey, Dean drunkenly stumbled to Cas. Clutched the lapels of his trench coat and slurred confessions he can only vaguely recall with his face pressed into the crook of Castiel's neck. Thinking back, he doesn't remember much of that night, but a few things do stand out: fingers carding tenderly through his hair, petting his nape; chapped lips brushing his temple; and if he really focuses, through the haze of alcohol he was fairly certain he felt a cool-silk brush like an impression of wings enveloping him.

He woke the next morning feeling far more refreshed than he had any right to after drinking as much as he did, splayed on Cas' chest with his arms wound around that trim waist. And when anxiety tried to make Dean back-pedal, red-faced and tongue-tied, Cas had kissed tender affirmations into his skin and rubbed soothing circles into his back until Dean couldn't help but believe the devotion making those brilliant blue eyes shine.

Nothing much changed, after that. Except that when Cas would reach for him, Dean felt comfortable reaching back. A tight aching loneliness, so familiar that Dean barely even noticed its presence anymore, unraveled and Dean felt cherished in the knowledge of Castiel's love.

They aren't a normal couple. Castiel doesn't crave carnal pleasures, and has no objection to Dean pursuing satisfaction for his needs. But it's always Cas that Dean comes home to. Cas who holds Dean until sunrise when the nightmares are too much. Cas who tells Dean he's beautiful, that he's enough, and Dean can’t help but believe him despite his doubts.

It's Cas who stays, through everything he stays and that's all Dean could ever want.

Their strange, indefinable relationship is enough for Dean. He's content, secure in the knowledge that he is loved.