Archive of Our Own ^beta

After the incident in the crypt, after Naomi nearly succeeded in getting Castiel to kill the person most important to him, Cas withdrew into himself almost completely.

He stopped touching Dean, stopped standing close. He would even seclude himself in his room and purposefully stay out of the room Dean’s in at the time, afraid he’ll somehow hurt him again.

No more shared spaces, no more lingering stares, no more gentle caresses as Cas heals Dean of his wounds.

Cas is still there, but the absence of him in Dean’s life seems to disagree.

——

It's yet another day of more and the same; Dean asking Sam if he’s seen Cas, Sam saying yes, and Dean feeling dejected at the knowledge that Cas is still staying out of his sights purposefully.

The only difference is, this time, Dean’s decided he’s had enough.

He waits till dinner time, because he knows Cas won’t come out of his room to eat anything—if he even decides to eat— until after everyone else has.

He makes his famous burgers, declaring himself the Meat Man—to Sam’s utter dismay—and instead of scarfing it down and going down to the Dean Cave to continue his millionth rewatch of Scooby-Doo, he takes both his plate and an extra—for Cas—and hightails it out of the kitchen and into the hall, stopping right in front of Cas’ bedroom door.

His hands are full, so he kicks the door a few times—gently—in lieu of a knock.

He waits as he hears some shuffling, more shuffling, and then a handful of steps before the door is pulled open, revealing Cas.

It's Cas.

Dean feels a surge of emotion flow through him, not realizing just how much he—dare he say it—missed seeing him around.

A grin splits over his face even as Cas grows shocked, and then kinda terrified, then nervous, completely avoiding looking at Dean's face.

Cas is withdrawn, and looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, but he doesn’t close the door on Dean, to Dean’s relief.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas flinches a little at the sound of his voice, but doesn’t say anything back, still dutifully looking at the ground.

“Can—“ Dean cuts himself off, clearing his throat when his voice cracks, “can you let me in?” he asks.

Cas slowly but surely lifts his gaze from the floor, meeting Dean’s gaze for the first time in forever—the first time in too damn long.

Emotions flicker across his face, changing too fast for Dean to make out any of them, before he sees Cas nod and shift out of the way just enough for Dean to squeeze through the gap between him and the door frame.

He makes his way to Cas’ bed, perfectly made, and hears the door shut softly behind him, almost hesitantly.

He turns to face Cas and sits on the edge of the bed, holding one of the plates out towards him.

“Here, Cas. I made burgers—brought you one.” He says, searching Cas’ face for any indication as to what he might be feeling or thinking.

Cas just stands there for a few moments, stock-still, before he says, “I don’t eat.”

It’s then that Dean realizes he hasn’t heard Cas’ voice in a really long fuckin’ time, and he has to force himself not to get up and pull him into a bone-crushing hug—it’s not like Cas had been missing for months without a trace, only to show up now; it’s also not like he’d been drafted and and Dean was his lonely lover waiting at home for him to return safely.

But it sort of feels that way.

Cas made himself practically invisible—nonexistent—for the last few weeks. He purposefully avoided and ignored Dean, making it his life’s mission to never be spotted by him once. This is the first Dean’s seen of him since their time in the crypt.

But now he’s here. Cas is here, in front of him—he may not be conversing really well and he may still be standing several feet away—but he’s here.

Dean rolls his eyes and gestures the plate forward further, saying, “Yeah, I know that, Cas—you’re a celestial being, you don’t need food to survive, blah blah—but I also know you enjoy eating every once in a while, and if you’re gonna eat, you’re gonna be eating my food, ‘cause it’s the best. So, here. Just take it.”

Cas looks up at him, and once again doesn’t move for a few moments, contemplating whether he should allow himself to be close to Dean. He's already too close—his chest has felt tight and his breathing slightly labored ever since he opened the door to see Dean standing right outside.

He hesitates, but steps forward until he can reach the plate and take it from Dean once he sees the pleading look in his eyes.

Dean wants him near. He's not afraid, even though he should be. Instead, he relaxes when Cas takes the plate and sits a respectable distance from him on the bed, no longer looking at him.

They eat their food in silence, Cas eating far slower than Dean. The more Cas eats, the more he finds himself relaxing.

The company is nice, and the food is good. This is good.

This is okay.

When Cas finally sets his empty plate aside, he realizes Dean has been staring at him for quite a while now. He turns to meet his gaze for a second before dropping it, the expression on Dean’s face too much to handle.

Cas knows what Dean’s going to ask before he asks it, but he lets him ask anyway.

“Are you okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Dean searching his face, trying to get him to look at him again. Cas relents, turning in his place until his whole body is facing Dean and he can look at him properly.

“I'm fine, Dean.” He says, barely able to meet Dean’s eyes as he says it.

Dean doesn’t look convinced.

“Are you sure? I mean, I haven’t seen you in…" Dean swallows, looking away for a moment, collecting himself, before turning back to Cas. “It's been a while, is what I’m saying. Is there anything going on? Anything I should know about?” He’s so gentle when he talks, so honest and trusting. There’s no judgment there. Cas couldn’t lie to him even if he wanted to.

“I've been…reflecting.” Cas states, careful and deliberate with his words. He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want to give away too much, either.

“Reflecting on what, Cas? You don’t have to tell me, but…it seems like whatever it is, it’s really been messin’ with you. And I wanna help, however I can. I'm your friend—I'll always be there for you. You know that, right?“

Cas’ stomach churns, and he feels what he thinks is nausea. Or something similar. Was it the food?

He nods, mouth working to form a response. “Yes, I know.”

They sit there on the bed in silence, knees inches away from touching. Cas breathes deeply, trying to get the odd sensation in his stomach to go away. Dean just looks at him—over him—patient, waiting for Cas to continue.

Cas’ thoughts are a jumbled mess, his breaths growing shallower, but he keeps his voice steady.

“That day, in the crypt. When I—“ Cas cuts himself off, taking a deep breath, trying to control himself. “When I hurt you. I was—that wasn’t me.”

Dean nods, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Yeah, you mentioned someone that night. Naomi?” He asks, cautious.

Cas inhales deeply before forcing out a tight “Yes.”

“Who was she?” Dean asks. He pauses, then, more angered, “What did she do to you?”

Cas opens his mouth to reply but then stops short, looking away. He can’t look him in the eyes anymore.

“She…tortured me. Made me say and do things I didn't want to—that I would never do—and…” he pauses again, risking a look back at Dean, finding him staring right back, concern and anger—the latter not directed at him—written all over his face. Cas thinks about his next words, the significance to them, wondering if he should refrain from saying anything else. But he goes through with it, because ultimately, it’s important for Dean to know how bad things were for him. Dean is open and listening and trustworthy—more than anyone Cas has ever known. He deserves to know what happened, no matter how much Dean knowing scares Cas.

“She put me through Hell, Dean.” His voice is unsteady as he says it, resolve breaking, walls crumbling, his core in all of its glory left bare for Dean to see.

Dean's shoulders drop, almost in defeat, expression sad and sympathetic.

Dean scoots closer, their legs touching, and Cas lets it happen.

Dean leans forward, hands slowly reaching for the sides of his face, cupping it, and Cas lets him.

Cas lets his eyes slip shut as Dean’s warm hands settle on his cheeks, the burn of his gaze stronger than anything else Cas has felt tonight.

The silence stretches, both Dean and Cas’ breathing the only sound in the room—in the whole bunker, it seems—just the two of them, together.

Cas doesn’t flinch when Dean speaks this time.

“Let me in, Cas. Please.” Dean says, pleads, his voice so gentle and comforting. His fingers splay over Castiel's cheeks, a soft caress that has him breathing out shakily, emotion welling up in his throat. He doesn’t trust his voice not to crack, so he nods slowly, and lets him in.

He lets Dean see what’s been plaguing him for weeks. The memories and the feelings and the nightmares—the fear that he’d snap and hurt Dean the way he did when trying to retrieve the tablet for Naomi.

He tries suppressing the memory of what Naomi said to him, did to him, made him do, but the slow, soothing swipes of Dean’s thumbs on his cheekbones seeps into his being and allows his body to relax, allows the thoughts to come forward, clear like the open water of the lake behind the bunker for Dean to see.

The training Naomi put Cas through—having him kill renditions of Dean hundreds and hundreds of times in a row. Her words cut into him like a knife, twisting into him, rearranging and modifying his insides to her liking—the pattern of “kill, kill, kill,” playing like a mantra in his brain, until the task of killing the fake Deans became easier—until he was programmed just the way she wanted.

The lies she fed to him—through him, to lie to Sam and Dean—the torture, her plans, all of it. All of it was laid out like an all-you-can-eat buffet for Dean to sift through.

Even through the haze of his memories playing out in front of him like a vivid dream, he can feel Dean tensing, feel Dean’s hands clutching his face just a little bit tighter, and he can tell that Dean is upset—Cas is hurting him—and Cas chokes on something like a sob and suddenly he’s back in his bedroom; strong, warm arms clutching him close to a firm chest, a chest with a heart that beats, hard and steady against the rib cage it’s trapped behind.

Cas knows he’s crying but can’t feel the scalding tears slide down his face; he’s too busy shaking and grappling at the soft fabric of Dean’s henley, trying to get closer, burrow his face deeper until he’s fully surrounded by Dean.

Dean, who is warm and alive and rubbing his back in large, soothing circles, softly shushing him and speaking kind affirmations into his ear; and that’s what Cas tries to focus on now—the warm puffs of breath against the side of his face, the strong hands holding him close, and the deep, rumbling voice speaking to him, trying to get him to listen, to know that everything is okay now; he is okay.

Dean is okay.

Cas feels his body loosen and his lungs fill with air, the first full breath he’s taken in a while. He slumps against Dean, and Dean maneuvers them until Dean’s leaning against the headboard with Cas’ head on his chest, ear pressed right above his heart so he can hear the steady rhythm of it beating, the sound relaxing him further until he’s just a puddle of flesh and bone resting atop a firm body—Dean’s body.

He stays there for a while, not paying attention to how much time passes—time is a foreign concept to him right now—but their breathing becomes synced; Cas breathing in when Dean does, and Dean breathing out when Cas does.

He feels Dean’s fingers carding through his hair, scratching at his scalp and ruffling it up even further than it usually is.

Cas allows himself to relax into the soft touches for a few minutes, at least until he remembers where exactly he is—and why he’s here.

He slowly pushes himself up and off of Dean's chest, missing the warmth instantly. He moves carefully so as not to alarm Dean, and turns to face him, seeing that Dean is already watching him—has probably been watching him for a while—with a worried yet patient expression on his face.

They stare at each other, what feels like seconds and hours passing all at once, and Cas eventually settles against the headboard beside Dean, unconsciously shifting closer so that their thighs and shoulders are pressed together, having missed the simple closeness despite having put the space in between them himself in the first place.

They settle, and silence stretches between them.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean's neck makes a faint cracking noise with the speed he turns to look at Cas, but manages to suppress a hiss at the twinge of pain, saying, “No—don’t. Don’t apologize, Cas. Please.” He says, soft and reassuring like he always is, and he grabs Cas’ hand then, clasping both of his own around it, holding on tight, and waits for Cas to look him in the eyes.

Cas is stuck staring at their intertwined hands for far too long before he can bring himself to look up, mouth parting at the expression on Dean’s face.

He feels Dean’s hands tighten around his again before he repeats, “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for, I promise. What Naomi—what she did to you, you couldn’t control. You couldn’t stop it. But that’s not your fault, Cas. It’s not, you hear me?” Dean lifts one of his hands back to the side of Cas’ face, the one still holding his hand squeezing tight, making sure Cas is paying attention. Cas leans into the hand on his face unconsciously, emotion welling up in his throat once again.

“You hear me, Cas?” Dean asks again, expression determined, voice firm but not angry, and Cas nods, leaning further into his touch. He closes his eyes and continues nodding, doesn’t stop until Dean's other hand slowly lets go of his hand in favor of moving to the other side of his face, holding him still.

They sit just like that, legs nearly tangled on top of the covers, Cas’ hands resting limply in his lap, Dean’s own hands once again cradling his face, his thumbs moving up and down in a soothing motion, until Cas calms, body slumping in Dean’s gentle hold.

Cas opens his eyes, immediately drawn to Dean’s green ones, almost glittering in the dim light of the room. Cas’ blinks are slow as they continue to stare at each other—read each other—just simply basking in the silence and comfort of his room, finally in each other's presence again.

Cas relaxes further, now, his own hands reaching up to lace with Dean’s fingers against his face. Dean smiles wide, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling, and Cas thinks it’s the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

Before Cas realizes what he’s doing—what he’s asking for—he opens his mouth, only able to get out “Can I—“ before Dean is surging forward, his lips connecting with Cas’ in a passionate kiss—their first kiss—and Cas melts.

The force of Dean’s body crashing into his sends Cas falling backwards on his bed, Dean quickly settling himself on top of him, caging him in with his body, lips never breaking from his.

Cas brings his hands up to Dean’s face this time, one landing on his cheek while the other reaches further, gripping the short hairs at the base of his neck. Dean hums, pressing closer to Cas, their bodies aligning at every point, not an inch of space between them.

Dean settles his weight on top of Cas more firmly, although carefully, despite Cas’ inhuman strength. The kissing gradually slows from desperate and frantic to soft and sensual, until Dean pulls back and smiles dazedly at Cas, gazing at him with hooded eyes.

“Hi, Cas.” he says, his smile audible in his voice.

Cas smiles back, immensely content, gums showing.

“Hello, Dean.”