Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean and Sam stalk into the old barn, side by side. Mary is waiting. She wipes her hands on her jeans.

"Where's Wally?"

Sam says, "Wally, uh…didn't make it."

"Oh, God," Mary says. Then, the old Winchester charm. "Shit. Fuck . Wally."

Dean starts, "Yeah, he, uh—"

Someone groans from a dilapidated couch stuffed into the corner and Dean's eyes follow the sound. As Mary so eloquently put it, Shit. Fuck. "Cas? Cas!" 

He's running before he even realizes he's in motion. A second later, he's across the room and kneeling before a faded, floral sofa on which rests a wounded Cas. 

Dean clutches his hand on instinct, reassured when Cas's grip is strong. 

For a moment, they're alone. 

The angel is dirty and sweaty, his face streaked with blood, possibly his own. Red blooms on the left side of his white shirt. There are bags under his eyes and he looks about to break, breathing hard, panting. Gasping, really. Like he can't get enough air into his lungs. 

Dean swallows hard. His heart is racing, his pulse a rapid flutter in his neck. His palm is sweaty where it clutches Cas's. "You look like hammered crap," he says, an attempt at humor. 

Cas doesn't even try to smile. "That sounds about right," he says. 

"Let's see." Hands shaking, Dean lifts Cas's shirt. He's imagined doing this so many times, under much different circumstances. A large, horizontal gash mars his flesh. Black lines crawl from the wound, tracing rivers of venom through his flesh.

Shit. Fuck. Ok. We can fix this. He can heal. Except he hasn't done it. Why hasn't he? 

Trying for his usual bravado, trying to keep Cas calm, he blurts, "I've had worse."

"Oh, yeah? When?"

Dean doesn't have an answer for that, and Cas knows that, so doesn't really wait for a reply before he says, "Something's wrong. I can't heal myself. I think the demon spear was poisoned. I think…Dean, I'm dying."

And Dean can't handle that. Can't even process it. No way is Cas dying. No way is there a world without Cas in it. Not for Dean. 

He says,"No. No, you just need some time. You'll heal up the old-fashioned way." He will heal. Dean knows it. Can't know anything else, can't fathom that Cas may be gone forever. 

Cas lets out a groan and clutches his side, writhing in pain as fresh sweat beads on his brow. Dean holds tight to his hand, gripping it like a lifeline. 

If Cas can keep a strong grip, he must be fine, right? I mean obviously not fine fine, he's bleeding, but something like fine. Eventually fine. Right? Something he can come out of, something he can heal from.  

If anyone knows how to fix this, it's his brother. Sam is steeped in lore. He knew every weapon there was to know. He'd memorized whole tomes . 

Desperation edging his voice, Dean calls, "Sam. Sammy!"

Sam comes over and Dean doesn't let go of Cas's hand. Even though heat creeps up his neck to stain his cheeks. Even though Sam couldn't possibly understand why he's gripping Cas so tight. 

Sam eyes the wound with blatant disbelief. "You can't heal it?"

Cas groans again and Dean snaps, "Don't you think he would have done it by now if he could? What is this, Sammy?"

"Dean…I don't know." Sam shoots him a helpless look, eyes wide and almost as scared-looking as Dean feels. 

If he'd only been there, he could have protected Cas. Could have prevented all of this. 

A voice says, "You idiots . You're all going to die."

Sam turns and Dean gets up. He puts himself between whoever the hell it is and Cas. Where he belongs. Between Cas and danger. 

His eyes land on the newcomer and he blinks hard. Crowley? What the actual fuck? Dean doesn't have time for this shit right now. Cas is laying there dying. Cas is mortally wounded. Cas is what matters. Not some shitty King of hell. 

He growls, "What are you even doing here?"

Sam, always quick on the uptake, fast at putting things together, glares at Crowley and says, "The demons were yours ." 

Almost sounding disinterested, Crowley drawls, "Obviously."

Mary's voice is hard as she snaps, "They killed my friend."

"Your friend was stupid . Do you know what you've done? Does the name Ramiel mean anything to you?"

A chorus of 'no's' sound out, until Cas says, "Yes. Ramiel, Prince of Hell." His voice is strong, that's a good sign. "But the princes of hell are all dead."

Crowley says, "That's what we told people to stop them looking, but in reality not so much. And he's going to kill you all."

Dean says, "What the hell is a prince of Hell?"

Crowley says, "The oldest of the old demons. First generation after Lilith. Lucifer turned them himself before the oceans drank Atlantis. They were trained to be generals, to lead demonic armies in the war against Heaven."

Sounding small for once, Mary says, "Like Azazel."

Crowley angles his head at her and says, "Six years ago, I went to see Ramiel. To offer him the Throne of Hell. Only he didn't want it, and he said the others didn't want it either. He let me have it. On the condition the princes of hell were left alone . He was left alone. My demons were there to keep people away from Ramiel. That's a hornet's nest you don't want to be kicking."

Dean snarls, "Yeah, well too fucking late . Where were you with this information yesterday? Now, what the hell happened to Cas?"

Crowley says, "You tell me." 

Dean's eyes fall on Mary. She was the one with him, his partner, his back-up. Dean never thought he could resent his mother for anything, but right now he resents the hell out of her. She let Cas get hurt. And she's been acting shifty for this whole gig; he has a feeling she's hiding something. 

Mary drops her eyes under Dean's glare. Sounding ten kinds of guilty, she says, "He…got stabbed. Some kind of spear."

"That's no 'spear', Mother Winchester."

Dean's gaze snaps to Crowley. "Quit your fucking games and tell us what it is."

"It's a lance. The Lance of Michael."

Sam says, "You're not serious."

Dean tenses. Something angel-forged. Which means powerful. Which means a smaller chance for Cas.

Sam goes on. "I read about it. Kills everything it touches. If you're a demon, you go up in a puff of smoke; if you're an angel you just…rot away."

Dean is gutted. His feet almost slide from under him. How can the world keep turning without Cas in it?

Chapter Text

Crowley nods and spreads his arms in a 'what can ya do?' gesture. "The moose is right. Sorry, Dean. I know how you love your pet Angel."

Ignoring the jab, Dean grinds out, "No. No, there's a cure. There's always a cure and we'll find it."

Sam shoots Dean a look. His eyes scan his face and his expression softens a moment in understanding, then he says, "So we trap Ramiel." He shoots Dean a tentative smile. "He must know, right?"

Nodding, Dean adds, "And we beat his ass till he gives it up."

Crowley shrugs. "It's not going to work." 

Sam glares at him. Voice haughty, he says,  "We took on the darkness and the devil—"

"It took you years to defeat Lucifer, and the power of God to stop the darkness. Maybe if you had more time you could manage Ramiel, but right now, in this barn…." He shakes his head. 

"Don't say that," Dean snarls. 

With a crooked smile, Crowley says, "Hey, I was growing fond of the choir boy, too, y'know—" 

Dean growls, " Shut up ! Shut up. We don't have time for you. So either help us or get the hell out of here ." Crowley can't make light of this. Can't turn this into a snide remark or a stupid joke or a little game. 

Cas is dying . 

Crowley disappears.

Dean turns back to Cas. 

He looks much worse. Clumsily, Dean fumbles open the top buttons of Cas's shirt, exposing pale flesh streaked with black. The poison, or whatever the hell it is, is eating Cas alive. He's hot to the touch and covered in cold sweat. Dean grasps his hand once more, holding it between both of his own. 

"Don't die on me." He tries for gruff but it comes out the barest whisper. Voice choked, he scrapes out, "Don't you dare fucking die on me, Cas."

"Dean…" he gasps. He grips Dean's hand too loosely. His strength is fading. 

Ramiel whistles in the distance, the sound drawing gradually nearer. 

"Dean. I need you to know…how much I care for you."

Hearing it revives Dean's hope. Both the hope that he'll find a way to save Cas, and the hope that Cas might…that he might return Dean's…feelings. Fuck is wrong with him? The guy—angel—is laying here half dead and he can't even admit this shit to himself ? 

Cas takes a shuddering breath. "Dean. I—"

Tears prick his eyes, and his voice is wrecked as he manages, "Don't do this, Cas."

"I know I shouldn't burden you with this—"

"Ain't about that," Dean snaps. "You don't get to say that right now. Because it means you're saying goodbye . And you're not going anywhere , you got that?" 

"Dean, listen to me—"

Sam and Mary come up behind him, both crouching down to Cas's level. The whistling draws closer. He still doesn't know the play, but he's getting that cure from that demon. 'Prince of hell.' Whatever. 

"No! No, you listen to me . You're going to make it. Understand? You're going to be fine ." Dean is trying to convince himself as much as Cas. This can't be the end. This can't be how they leave things. Cas can't stop existing. 

"Crowley is right. He'll kill you all. Don't make me spend my last moments watching you die . You should go. You should run ."

"Cas," Sam says, at the same time as Dean says, " Fuck no !"

Cas groans, gripping his wound and trembling, sweat pouring down his face. When he settles, his gaze rests on Dean's, earnest and imploring. Dean's heart wrenches in his chest. 

"Look. Thank you. Knowing you… it's been the best part of my life. The things we've done, the things we've shared together, they've changed me." 

Dean can feel Mary's eyes on him. Sam is staring, too. For all that they are all there, Cas is talking to Dean. Just Dean. And they know it, too. 

Cass grunts, hand to his side. He groans again as he's wracked with pain. "You…you're my family. I love you."

Dean holds his gaze, unable to move, unable to breathe. He needs to fix this but he doesn't know how. He's practically immobilized. Anything else, any one else, and he'd have a plan in no time flat. 

But Cas is dying. Cas's fate rests in his hands and it's overwhelming. His brain isn't working. He can't get in his head back in the game to save his life. To save Cas's life. Fuck!

Tears streaming down his face, Cas adds, "I love all of you." His eyes flick to Sam and Mary, then back to Dean. "Just run . And I'll hold Ramiel off as long as I can."

So Cas's plan is just to die then. He couldn't hold off a kitten in the state he's in. Dean clenches his jaw til it aches. There's a hole in his chest. Only explanation for the gaping emptiness resting there. 

He snaps, "No! Cas, I'm not leaving— we're not leaving."

"The world needs you to keep fighting."

Sam says, "We are fighting. We're fighting for you , Cas."

Dean's voice wobbles as he says, "You're family. And we don't leave family behind."

Sam and Mary get to their feet and walk away, leaving them alone once more. 

Dean tells him, "We've got a plan." Well, it's more a vague idea, but plan sounds more certain, more comforting. 

Cas gives the barest of nods, tears still streaming down his face. 

"C'mon, man," Dean chokes out. "Three Winchesters on your side. Can't ask for better."

Cas nods again. "I truly can't."

Dean squeezes his hand again and without thought, he drops a kiss on top of Cas's head before he joins Sam and Mary on the other side of the room.

Ramiel can't be heard whistling any more. Is he close? Is he already there?

"What's the play?" Mary asks.

Dean swallows over the lump in his throat. "We hit him with everything we got." He slides the Enochian brass knuckles on. Sam is holding Cas's angel blade. "Holy oil," Sam says. "Back at the car."

Mary nods. "I'll get it." She ducks out the back door at a run and returns quickly, winded. 

Right after she pours the circle of holy oil, Crowley comes crashing through the side of the barn. 

Dean stares. Maybe the old crossroads demon had tried to help after all. Color him surprised. 

Then Ramiel steps through the hole in the wall, eyes blazing yellow with unholy light. 

Sam drops a lighter and flames encircle him. 

Ramiel chuckles as he surveys the flames. 

He smiles at Dean. "Toasty." He is. Completely. Unruffled. Shit, that is not good. Maybe holy oil can't hold him, would fail as the devil's trap had failed. 

Dean doesn't care. This bastard needs to know what he'd done. He'd made an enemy of Dean Winchester. 

"You stabbed my best friend."

"Your friend was trespassing," he drawls. "All I wanted was my peace."

Dean starts to circle one side of the ring of flames, Sam walks the other direction, boxing him in. 

"I'll tell you right now. He dies? We have a problem." 

Ramiel grins. "Do we, now?"

"You're damned right we do. You value your peace so much? I'll never let you rest. I'll be a thorn in your side for just as long as I'm breathin'." He pretends to consider. "Maybe even longer. We all know ghosts with unfinished business can hang around. I'll make your life hell."

Sam cuts in. "Tell us how to cure him."

"There's no cure." 

The words hit him like a right hook to the jaw. He falters, tries not to let it show. 

Ramiel's lying. He must be. And the son of a bitch is still smiling like he's having a great time. 

He's fucking with them. Dean knows it. He's just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Chapter Text

His eyes flick to Cas briefly of their own volition. The black lines are climbing his face like vines. He's soaked in sweat and blood, his eyes only half open, his chest rising and falling slowly. Too slowly. He doesn't have long. 

Dean forces a cocky smirk. "Do you have any idea who we are?"

Ramiel replies, "I don't care. I don't care who you are, I don't care why you're here, I don't care about heaven or hell or anything . I don't even care that Lucifer's got a bun in the oven. My sister Dagon, she's taken an interest but me—eh?" He makes a show of an elaborate shrug. "All I wanted was to be left alone and then you come and steal from me."

Mary. Had to be. He knew it wasn't him. Sam and Cas would never go behind his back like that. 

What did Mary take? And why? And how fucking dare she endanger Cas and Sam. And him, he adds belatedly. Because she's done that as well, but it's Cas and his brother he cares about. What gives her the fucking right to endanger his family?

Dean shifts his gaze to Mary. She staggers back a step at the fury in his eyes. Ramiel is still talking, though, so Dean pays attention.

The Prince of Hell is saying, "Give me back what's mine or I take it off your lifeless bodies." He pulls out a pocket watch and clicks the button. "You've got 30 seconds."

Dean shoots Mary another hard look, then glances at Sam—he's oblivious and gives Dean a perplexed look. 

Now isn't the time. Even though Mary wronged them all, Dean still won't give her up to a Prince of Hell. No, he'll handle it himself. 

"We got no idea what you're talking about," Dean tells him. 

"Twenty seconds."

Dean throws one last glance at Cas. His fist tightens around the brass knuckles, heart hammering in his chest. He checks that Sam is ready, sees his grip tighten on the angel blade. 

"Have it your way. I gave you a chance. I'm not unreasonable." 

Ramiel pulls the lance out of mid-air from behind his back and slams it into the floor. A blast of power puts out the holy fire. The force of it sends Dean and everyone else flying, driving them backward into the nearest wall.

Dean's on his feet and he charges, Sam coming in from the other side. The fight's quick and dirty. Dean and Sam and Mary all rush him at once. Dean gets a few hits in with the brass knuckles with little effect. Ramiel hits Sam with the butt of the weapon and swings the point around at Mary. Dean takes him at the hips and knocks him off balance, but then a swipe sends him reeling backward. He grabs a shovel on his way up, using it to parry strikes from the lance. Ramiel knocks it away. 

The point of the lance is coming right for him. What does that thing do to humans? They'd covered demons and angel, but not humans. Was it just a regular weapon to them? If so, Dean had been stabbed before, he'd recover. 

At the last second, Sam drives his elbow into the side of Ramiel's face, knocking him back and away as Mary comes from the side and stabs him with the angel blade. In that second, he's off balance and Sam grabs the lance and buries it in his chest. 

Dean scrambles to his feet. 

It's like Ramiel doesn't know what's happening for a second because he starts to laugh and then goes up in a puff of smoke. 

Well, that's that, then. If there had been a cure, Ramiel would have known it. He was gone and so was any chance of saving Cas.

Dean's heart plummets. Everything slows. His blood feels sluggish in his veins and he swears his heart actually stops beating, just briefly. The world tilts. His legs wobble, almost like he forgets how to stand for a second. 

He feels like sinking to the floor and sobbing. He feels like punching something—everything. 

Then Cas groans and he snaps back to the present. 

Cas is still here. He's hurt and he's scared. 

Dean makes his feet move, forces himself to stay upright, to keep moving, to keep fighting. For Cas. 

Sam and Mary are already at Cas's side by the time Dean arrives, but they part for him, move back and away. They've seen enough and heard enough to know that it's Dean who Cas needs just now. 

Dean kneels beside him. It's bad. Cas is wrapped in snakes of black. Rotting from the inside out. He's barely conscious, but his hand flexes in Dean's and his eyes flicker open. 

Inexplicably, he smiles. "Dean. You didn't die."

Dean's eyes burn and he chokes back a sob. Forcing a grin, he says, "Told ya so."

A loud crack sounds from behind him and then Cas flares blue-white, the light so bright Dean has to squeeze his eyes shut. He never drops Cas's hand, even when it gets hot in his own, infused with the insanely bright light. 

He's almost blind when the barn returns to its former gloom. When his vision adjusts, he searches for the source of the cracking sound. 

Crowley waggles two halves of the broken lance. "Magic's in the craftmanship." He smiles. 

Dean just stares at him for a moment stupefied. "Cas." He turns back to the angel to find he looks fine. Perfect. A little rumpled, but no longer pale and sweating and streaked with rot. His expression is a little dazed.

Sam and Mary step forward, gaping down at the healed angel.

Sounding annoyed, Crowley says, "You're welcome ," and drops the pieces of the lance with a clatter before he disappears. 

Cas lets out a sharp breath and sits up. Dean still grips his hand. He hauls him to his feet before he lets go. Dean's gaze rakes him up and down. "You good?"

"I…guess so."

They all start to move toward the exit and Dean is still watching Cas from the corner of his eye, making sure he's stable. 

Sam says, "What did he mean about somebody stealing from him?" 

Dean shoots Mary a hard look. He knows. He knows she took something, he knows she endangered them all. And he's going to have it out with her at some point. But not now. And Sam doesn't need his illusion of their 'perfect' mother shattered. 

So he just says, "Who knows what that crazy man was talking about?" He drops back a pace and falls in step beside Cas. "Let's go home."

His shoulder bumps Cas's and his hand finds the angel's, lacing their fingers together. He isn't ready to let go yet. Cas almost died, and that threw everything into stark relief. That feeling of nearly losing him is still too recent, too fresh to make much sense of anything. He just knows he can't lose him, wants to keep him close, wants to keep him safe. 

Cas comes to a full stop, dragging Dean with him. He lifts their joined hands and looks from them to Dean's face and back again as if holding hands is a foreign concept, as if he can't puzzle out what's happening. 

Had he read it wrong? What Cas had started to say, how much he cared. Had he meant something else? Did he just mean 'family'?

Heart thundering in his ears, Dean's voice sounds faint as he asks, "What? This a problem?" 

Cas just lets their hands drop, still entwined,  and resumes walking. On a smile, he says, "No, Dean."

Sam turns back as if to make sure he hasn't lost them. His eyes flick to their hands and his step falters. He smiles. "I think I'll catch a ride with Mom."

Dean says, "You don't have to do that," just as Cas drops Dean's hand and says, "That is unnecessary." 

Sam looks from Dean to Cas and back again. "Oh, it's very necessary," he chuckles, shaking his head. He jogs to catch up to Mary. "Mom! I need a lift."

Chapter Text

It's like waking up hungover. He's been so tense and on edge for so long that his head throbs. His muscles ache from being tensed, from fighting a prince of hell, from kneeling on the hard floor of the dilapidated barn. The adrenaline high he's been rocking is dropping and every little hurt he has hurts a little more than it did a few seconds ago. And damn is he tired. He stifles a yawn as he slides into Baby. 

He almost lost Cas today. And that is unacceptable. He had every intention of torturing that demon the rest of his life and then some. Sam would have helped, too. Because Sam also loved Cas. Just not in the same way. 

Cas sits shot-gun as the Impala speeds toward home. Dean can't figure out how to say what he needs, how to ask for what he wants. He keeps his eyes on the road. 

The stillness settles around them. Just tires on road, the wind whizzing by, the sound of breathing. Dean doesn't even put on the radio. 

Dean. I need you to know…how much I care for you. 

I know I shouldn't burden you with this. 

…Knowing you… it's been the best part of my life. The things we've done, the things we've shared together, they've changed me.

The words echo in his mind on a loop, every syllable, every pause etched in his memory. Cas's eyes holding his, his expression open, vulnerable. 

He's driving on autopilot, his brain still firmly back at that barn. 

He thought he had Cas, thought he had thoroughly shown how important he was to him, thought Cas felt the same. 

But then he'd dropped his hand. Did Dean just read something that wasn't there? Did he misinterpret everything? Did 'care for you' not mean what he thought it meant?

His hands are glued to the steering wheel, his eyes glued to the road. He wants to take Cas's hand again, but he can't. It was natural before, instinctive. He wanted to touch Cas, to make sure he was okay, to feel close to him, to show him he cared, too. Now it just feels…wrong. 

He doesn't want to put Cas in a position of giving him the "can we just be friends" speech.

He keeps feeling Cas drop his hand after Sam saw them, keeps replaying the moment in his mind. One second he has a warm, rough hand gripping his own fiercely, the next second it slips away, leaving him feeling cold. 

What is Dean supposed to make of that? What does it mean? He's not good at feelings or words, and he knows that. Cas knows that, too. That was why he took his hand rather than say anything. He thought it said all that needed saying. 

Maybe Cas thought the same about dropping it. Maybe he was saying something with his actions too. The thought rips him up inside; he needs Cas to know what he means to him, wants him to understand so badly it's a physical ache. And the worst part is he can't even just say the words. 

Fifteen miles in, just to break the tense silence, he says, "You really okay?"

"Yes. I'm healed. Thank you."

"Good."

He turns to him, Dean can sense it more than see it. "Dean, give me your hand."

Oh. Good.  

In no time flat, he drops his right hand from the wheel, reaching blindly. Cas's warm hand wraps around his own and a cooling light flares briefly, traveling through him and healing everything. 

Oh. Just healing. 

Cas is about to let go, Dean feels his fingers slacken. But he tightens his grip, slots his fingers through Cas's. The angel doesn't resist, but Dean still feels a flush climb his cheeks.

Talking into the awkwardness to lessen it, he says, "Man, who would have thought Crowley would come in useful for once?"

"Certainly not me," Cas replies with the faintest of smiles. 

The silence enfolds them once more. It should be comfortable, but instead it's charged. Dean sneaks a look to his right. Cas is gearing up to say something. His eyes are intense, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. 

"Dean. Do we…hold hands now?" He hasn't let go.

Dean squeezes the hand in his slightly. Trying to keep the tremor from his voice, he says, "Damn right we do."

"Do we also…kiss one another?"

He turns to look at Cas, but his expression is inscrutable. He looks for too long and has to jerk his head back to the road, yanking the wheel to keep them from drifting into oncoming traffic. 

Finally, he says, "We do if you want to." Its a cop out. He wants to. He should just fucking say so. Put everything on the table. 

"You kissed me. In the barn."

Oh. He'd forgotten that. "Sorry. I thought you were…." He can't quite say 'dying.' 

"Angels can't love this way, Dean."

Oh. Oh, shit. Fuck. Heat rushes to his face. He clears his throat, lets go of Cas's hand and puts it back on the wheel. "Sorry." He coughs. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

A pause. Dean has never hated silence more in his life. He wants to put on the radio. He doesn't.

Cas goes on. "When I say can't I mean…aren't supposed to."

"Oh." Dean sucks in a breath. His heart thunders in his ears, his palms slick on the wheel. His voice harsher than he means it to be, he says, "Well, hell, you do a lot of things angel's aren't supposed to."

"That is true."

Dean braces himself. "You sayin'...loving me is where you draw the line?"

"No, Dean. I was just explaining why I haven't made my sentiments known to you sooner. I also thought…you would not feel as I feel."

Fuck. Shit. He's supposed to say it, isn't he? Why does the idea of saying three words fill him with dread? Why does he go hot and cold and break out in a sweat? He's said it to Sammy. He's said it to Mary before. He can say it. Just fucking say it. 

"Cas, I…" He chickens out. His voice dies in his throat. Coward. No, Cas hadn't said the words either. He all but had. And maybe he was scared, too. Hell, he'd practically said he was scared to tell him. Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth. Say something.  

He drops his hand from the wheel again, searching for Cas's hand. His long fingers entwine with Dean's. 

Cas lets him off easy. "So. We hold hands. We kiss. What else do we do now, Dean?"

Dean has a very vivid image in his mind of what else he would like to do with Cas. At home. In his bed. The bunker is big. They can find a room as far away from Sam as possible, so he can't hear anything. 

Dean manages not to sound breathless when he tries for his seductive tone. "I'll show you later." 

Chapter Text

They sit in the car outside the bunker for a moment. 

Cas says, "Sam?"

Dean knows exactly what he's asking. He waves his free hand, his other still being held by Cas, rough thumb stroking gently over the back of his hand. 

"Don't worry. Sam won't say anything." 

Was that why he let go back at the barn? Was he worried about Sam's reaction?

"Mary?"

He doesn't know. It's never anything they would have discussed. If his dad's views were any indication… it would be a bit rough, to say the least. But he just grunts noncommittally. "Don't worry about her. Don't worry about anyone . Okay? Their opinions don't matter. Not about…this. Not to me."

Cas squeezes his hand before he lets go and opens his door, slides out of the car. Dean swallows hard, getting out on his side. 

Cas has waited for him and he takes his hand once more. Dean grins. He doesn't know why he's so fucking elated at just holding hands. He probably hasn't held hands since he was a kid, maybe up til about thirteen when he held Sam's hand whenever they crossed a busy street. But that wasn't this. 

Something about touching Cas, knowing Cas wanted to touch him was significant. 

They make it as far as the bunker door when Dean tugs on his hand, pulls him in close, chest to chest. Cas lets himself be pulled, though his expression seems wary. 

Dean's hands settle on his hips and he dips his head, brushing his lips across Cas's. Cas stares the whole time, frozen. Dean pulls back a little. Was it too much too fast? Had he blown it?

"Cas?"

Cas nods slowly, as if considering. Then one hand slips up to cup Dean's jaw while the other hand snakes around to his lower back.

Dean's eyes flutter closed as Cas hauls him even closer, bringing their mouths together once more. Fiercely. Passionately. 

Dean finds himself being walked back, pinned up against the bunker door. Cas's large hands grip him while he kisses him within an inch of his life, his body hard against Dean's.

When he finally breaks away, stepping back slightly, his bright blue eyes rake Dean head to toe and back again. Dean can feel the dopey look on his face but he doesn't know how to wipe it off just now. He sags  against the door, feeling a little unsteady. 

Cas gives a smug smile. 

"Apparently, I'm good at kissing."

Dean's too stunned to reply properly. Where does an angel learn to kiss like that? And what else does he know how to do that well?

Cas straightens his trench coat and tightens his tie. "Dean? We should go in now."

"Right! Right." 

"Dean. You're blocking the door."

"Right." He pushes off the door and opens it, motioning Cas ahead of him. 

Sam and Mary are waiting for them in the war room. 

"Have a good talk?" Sam asks with restrained laughter shining in his eyes. His lips twitch in what's almost a smile. 

"Yes," Cas says. He takes Dean's hand. "We hold hands now."

Dean can't help but smile even as a flush creeps up his neck. "We do."

Sam says, "Well. Okay, then." He grins. 

Mary looks baffled. She narrows her eyes and says, "What?"

"Don't worry about it." Seeing her has brought all his anger back to the surface. "Cas, Sam. Can you let me have a word with Mary alone?"

Sam gives him a funny look at the use of her given name. "Uh. I guess?"

Cas says, "Of course." He pecks Dean on the cheek and releases his hand. As they head for the library, Dean hears him tell Sam, "We kiss now, too." 

Sam laughs. "No kidding?"

"I'm good at it."

Mary's brow furrows. "Are you and Cas---"

"Yes."

"How---"

"No. We're not talking about that."

He stares her down, dares her to say anything negative. She just shrugs and shakes her head, then shoots Dean a look. "What's this about?"

He snaps, "You know what it's about. Sam may know all the lore, but I know people. I know when they're full of shit. And you are the fullest of shit I've ever seen you. What did you steal?"

Mary balks, eyes flitting away, "You said yourself. The man was crazy. I have no idea what he was talking about."

Dean narrows his eyes, taking a step toward her. "Bullshit. And the thing is, if you had been honest? Told me what we were getting into? I would have helped you anyway. It wasn't Wally needin' help with demons, it was you. Only you lied to us to get our help. You endangered your son. You endangered my family."

Tears pool in her eyes. "It's my family, too."

"No. You were given the opportunity to be our family. But you went behind our backs. You put at us at unknown risk. Family doesn't do that. You endangered your son."

"I have two sons."

He's shouting now. He can't help it. "Yeah, only I don't mean me. You endangered Sam. That's what matters to me. You know why? I raised him. He didn't have a mom, he had a sorry excuse for a dad. I spent my life, risked my life, have given my life to protect him. And you want to throw that away."

"I'm sure John did his best."

"Yeah, well, his best is shit."

Mary says nothing. She just drops her eyes. 

"You know what I do when things are too dangerous for him? I do it instead. That's what family does." He's breathing hard, fists clenched at his sides. "You don't want to tell me what you stole, fine. But get the hell out of here and don't come back. You got that?"

Mary gives him a stunned look. "Dean, you don't understand—"

Eyes hard, voice tight, he snaps, "Just go. Now ."

She puts her hands up, palms out in surrender. She grabs her coat and bag. From the top of the stairs, she says, "I never meant for anyone to get hurt." 

The door closes. Dean stands there for what feels like a long time, trying to stop the trembling in his limbs, trying to slow his breathing. He's still sick with anger, utterly furious at what she did. 

Sam appears in the doorway. "Hey."

"How much of that you hear?" Dean asks. 

"All of it." 

Eavesdropping. Dean rolls his eyes. "Look, I can't let her do that to you. To us. She can't—" Dean's voice cracks and then Sam is enfolding him in a rough hug. 

He hugs him back.

Chapter Text

"I don't blame you if you're mad. You deserve to have her in your life—"

"You did the right thing," Sam says. "I mean, Jesus, we almost lost Cas. What the hell was so important to her she would screw us all over like that?"

They're sitting in the kitchen, beers in front of them. Cas sits beside Dean, silent. He tried to slip away, but Dean said family business was his business, too. And he deserves to know what Mary did. 

"I have a theory," Dean answers. He glances at his watch, then at Cas. "Let's talk about it tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

Sam says, "Yeah. Me too. Good night. Oh, and the room at the end of the hall—far, far away from mine—is in usable condition. Just saying."

Dean gives him a look. In a warning tone, he says, "Sammy."

"What? I'm just offering useful information." He smiles innocently and heads for his room. 

Cas stands. He says, "Good night, Dean."

"Wait. I thought…you might join me."

Cas frowns. "You said you were going to bed."

Dean grins crookedly. "Sure, did, sweetheart. But I didn't say I was going to sleep ."

It takes Cas a full five seconds. "Oh."

"Up to you," he says quickly, because Cas hasn't said anything for a few seconds which feel like an absolute fucking eternity . Maybe he wasn't ready for that. Maybe he didn't want to. Shit . He's like a nervous teenager. 

He doesn't want to pressure Cas or scare him off. He knows all this is new ground for him. Well, it is for Dean, too. There has been very little overlap in 'people he cares about' and 'people he has sex with.' He doesn't know the right things to say, the right steps to take. 

Cas slides his hand into his and smiles, turning to lead him toward the room at the end of the hall. Dean follows, his throat tight, his stomach doing backflips. 

They don't speak. Dean is glad of that, because he's not sure he can form a coherent thought at this point. All the blood in his head has migrated south and his heart is going double its normal speed. 

Cas opens the door and flips on the light. The bed is bare, but the room is otherwise clean. Dean says, "I'll get some sheets and a blanket."

 Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Is this really happening?  

Dean grabs clean sheets from a closet, snatching up a thin blanket on the way out. Cas stands by the bed. He's removed his trench coat and draped it over the dresser. His sleeves are rolled up, displaying muscled forearms, tie loosened, top button of his shirt undone. 

Dean tears his eyes away. How can he get so hot from a guy—angel—taking off his fucking coat? It's insane. 

He sets about making the bed, and Cas helps from the other side. The mundane chore calms him a little. It's just sex. He's had plenty of it. It will be fine. 

Except it's not 'just sex,' not with Cas. And far as he knows Cas has never had sex, which just adds to the pressure. 

Except there was that kiss….Jesus, what a kiss. Where had he learned to do that? 

The bed is made. Dean shuts the door. He clenches and unclenches his fists. He takes a deep breath. 

He has no fucking clue what to do next. 

But when he turns, Cas is there, right in his personal space as per usual. 

"Dean…" His name is a sigh, an endearment. And then conscious thought flees under the onslaught of Cas's lips and tongue and teeth and Dean is breathless in the best way. He's practically giddy, lightheaded. 

Ok. He can do this. He's good at kissing, too, damnit. He brings a hand up and cups Cas's face, taking control of the kiss. But Cas allows that for all of three seconds before he's back in command. 

Probably for the best. Though it surprises him. He never thought of Cas as being dominant, but his kisses would say otherwise. Far from being a tentative virgin as Dean envisioned---once or twice or a hundred times---he's the one taking the lead. Dean lets him. 

His hands are everywhere. They ruck up Dean's shirt and glide over his skin, warm and sure and possessive . He shivers, his hands sliding down Cas's shoulders, molding their bodies together. 

Dean breaks away, panting for breath. "Cas…"

Cas stills, eyes meeting his. "Oh, right. You had something to show me." That little smug smile again. One of these days, Dean might wipe that smile off his face. 

Except, hell, no, he won't.  He likes it too much. 

"I'm wondering if you should be the one showing me," he half-jokes. 

Cas leans in, serious and earnest. "I have observed humanity for millennia. But I have never participated in kissing or…anything else like this."

He feels back on even ground. New territory for both of them. That seems…safer somehow. "Didn't stop you from being good at it." Dean grins. 

Cas nods solemnly. "It does not seem to have done so."

Dean stifles a laugh. 

Then Cas brings their mouths together again, hauling Dean with him as he backs toward the bed. Ok. This is happening. 

He turns, and falls on top of Dean, pinning him. The weight of his body, hard against Dean's feels so right. Like they were meant to fit together. 

Had kissing always been this good? Or is it just this good with Cas? 

As good as making out is, Dean needs more. He wants Cas more than anything he's ever wanted. Wants him inside him, on top of him, just like this. The lustful kissing has stolen all his sense, and he can't think at all, not even to be nervous. 

Acting on instinct, he gets Cas's shirt untucked, starts undoing buttons. Then they're undressing each other, frantic, needy. Clothes fly over the edge of the bed. Moments later, they're skin to skin and Cas is between his thighs. 

It's slow and sweet and gentle. Roughened hands play over his body with exquisite tenderness. Lithe fingers glide through his hair. Cas cups his cheek and kisses his lips. He whispers his name like it's the most precious word ever spoken. 

The angel has a knack for singular, intense focus, and he pours all of it into making love with Dean.  

Later, they lie together, Cas's head pillowed on his chest while Dean strokes a lazy hand up and down his back. 

He's on the edge of sleep, his body tired and sated. His eyes drift closed. He knows Cas will leave soon, go to his own room or the den, and he's trying to enjoy as much of him as he can. 

Cas lifts his head to look at him, chin resting on his chest. "That was satisfactory?"

Dean grins. "Damn right it was."

Cas gives that little smile again. "So we have intercourse now?"

That wakes him right up. Dean almost laughs. Twenty minutes ago, Cas was dragging him bodily into bed, pinning him down, now he's asking if they have intercourse . But there's uncertainty in his voice.

A smile in his voice, he says, "You were here for that right?"

"I was."

"So why you askin' me?"

"I'm just making sure I understand the parameters of our relationship." Cas lays his head back down, nestling closer. 

"Just…call it something else."

"What should I call it?"

" Anything else. 'Intercourse' sounds too…clinical for what we did. Do." Dean pauses. He scrapes together what nerve he has left. It's easier to talk like this, with Cas lying half on top of him, warm against him. Still, he hesitates. "You know. There's words for people who kiss and hold hands and…have sex."

Cas makes a small, questioning noise. 

"People usually say they're a couple. Or together. Or…you know, boyfriend. That kind of thing."

"I'll call it whatever you like. Titles don't mean to me what they mean to you."

Anxiety creeps in. He thought they had an understanding. Thought he'd said enough and done enough that Cas knew, just knew , that he belonged to Dean now. But now he wonders. Is this a passing thing for him? A novelty? 

Or is he… shit, fuck . Is he just going along with what he thinks Dean wants?

Dean clears his throat. He can't go on like this. Cas is too important. They need to talk this out. And that fucking terrifies him. Decades fighting the actual things that go bump in the night and a conversation scares him. 

Better now before he gets his heart stomped on. It will still hurt, but he can't drag it out. He needs to know what this is, what it's becoming. 

Dean disengages, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. He scrubs a hand over his face. 

Cas sits up, too, casting Dean a questioning look. "Have I said something wrong?"

"No. No, it's just…fuck," he mutters. He keeps his eyes down, ears burning with embarrassment. Why is this so fucking hard ? "What do you mean about titles? Is this…something you want, too? Or…"

"I don't understand."

Dean tries again. "In the barn. You said you cared about me. And I…I care about you. A lot. So, yeah, I need the title. I need to know that you're all in. Because I am. I am all in on us."

"Poker."

Dean nods. "Yeah."

Cas is silent a long moment. "Do we say we love each other?"

" Don't ask me that, Cas. You gotta tell me what you want. Because I'll do it. Whatever it is, I'll do it. You gotta set the 'parameters of our relationship.' Because you matter more than some fling. And if we're just friends who sometimes have sex, then fine. I'll make that work. But that's not what I want." 

He stops talking. He can't even look at Cas. He's breathing hard and his eyes sting. And he still hasn't said what he needs to say. 

But he will. He can. He'll make himself, for Cas. 

Feeling like the words are being torn from his chest, bracing himself for rejection, he breathes, "I love you, Cas. I want to be with you. But not if you don't want that, too."

"Dean." He takes his hand and raises it to his lips, brushing a kiss across the knuckles. His other hand comes up and cups Dean's chin, turning his head, lifting it so he's forced to look at him. 

"What I meant about titles is that I'll love you in any way you'll let me."

Dean's heart stalls in his chest. He's pretty sure he's not breathing. 

Cas goes on, "If you need a friend, I will be that friend. I am that friend. If you need more family, I am your brother. If you need a comrade in arms, I am that man. I will be whatever you need, for as long as you need. Because I love you in all the ways. You. Are. Everything to me."

His thumb swipes a tear which has escaped and is making a slow trek down Dean's cheek. "Use whatever words for me you would like. Tell me how I'm allowed to love you and I will . Because I already do."

Dean pulls him in for a kiss. Against his lips, he murmurs, "How does the word 'husband' sound?"