Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The crying is happening again. Castiel doesn't like it but there seems to be no stopping the process before its self-appointed end.

Salt tears sting the eyes. Castiel holds air inside of the lungs until the involuntary response takes over and a gasping sob emerges.

The noise echoes in the small bathroom. Castiel has heard this is the room to go to when you cry but perhaps humans want to be noticed when they do so. Another place in the bunker must be found before the next time this happens. Watching the process blurrily in the mirror somehow makes it all worse.

Dean hasn't touched Castiel at all since this morning. All it took was one flinch away from unexpected contact to remove that facet of their new, closer relationship.

The lack of physical affection isn't why the crying is happening. It's just on Castiel's mind.

A knock. “Is that you, Cas?” Sam asks through the door.

Castiel gathers breath to reply. “Yeah.” The voice produced is strange and watery. Presumably that's the mucus.

“Are... you okay?” Sam asks.

Castiel absolutely loathes this question by now. Both Winchesters ask it at least four times a day. Each. “Yes.” At least this time it comes out sounding firmer.

There's a long pause. “Okay.” Sam has a bunch of different facial expressions for this kind of scenario. From his voice, the spinning wheel stopped on 'I don't believe you but I'll let it go for now.' It's been a common choice over the course of their friendship, especially in the middle of the night. “I'll be in the library for an hour or so,” Sam adds, unexpectedly.

Castiel doesn't know how to respond, or even why Sam mentioned his plans. The post-crying headache has begun and the body has been too short on sleep for too long. Cravenly, Castiel just waits in the bathroom until the tile floor starts looking like an inviting place to lay down. But in reality, it would be cold and hard and not as clean as it might be.

Obviously, the wait was not long enough because Castiel opens the door to hear Sam's voice rising just down the hall. “...not really a good sign if your boyfriend is crying in the bathroom after you have sex!”

“Oh my god, Sammy, that isn't what happened. Stop making this into a very special episode of an after-school sitcom.”

Dean. Castiel closes the eyes. Now they're going to have to talk about it. Comfortingly, Dean is just as bad as Castiel at conversations about emotions so it isn't one more failure to be human enough. To add to the long, long list.

When Castiel opens the eyes again, Dean is in the hallway. He's dressed for sleep in boxers and undershirt. Their eyes meet. “Hey Cas,” Dean says, softer than he'd spoken to Sam.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel says.

Dean motions Castiel to come closer. Castiel joins him in his bedroom.

Dean closes the door before he speaks again. “What's up?” he asks.

“Being human is... overwhelming,” Castiel says, truthfully.

Dean chuckles. The sound warms Castiel right through. “Yeah, it can be.” His mouth goes serious again and Castiel tenses. “But if there's anything... making you uncomfortable, you know you can tell me, right?”

Involuntarily, Castiel reaches out, remembering what Dean's aura would look like at moments like this: all orange and blue swirling, uncertainty radiating off him. For the thousandth time since becoming human, Castiel regrets losing Dean's vibrant colours.

Dean takes the offered hand and rubs his thumb across the palm. If it isn't exactly what Castiel intended, it's at least not unpleasant.

The body absolutely craves touch, especially Dean's touch, but Castiel feels a curl of unease when Dean's hands move to the waistband of the pajama bottoms. Interactions without clothing have been... awkward. Dean's sexual experience is so vast and varied as to be intimidating.

“Okay, let me try something that will definitely relax you,” Dean says, with a purr in his voice that makes the knees go weak.

“Yes,” Castiel says. If Dean wants to try, Castiel doesn't want him not to.

Without a spoken 'yes', Dean gets self-conscious and stops. Castiel learned that the hard way. The absolutely burning wish to make Dean happy is the only thing left to hold on to in these situations.

Dean gently pushes Castiel towards the bed. “Then sit down.”

As Castiel perches on the end of Dean's bed, Dean kneels, still holding on to the waistband. He pulls it down to reveal the penis.

Castiel shivers. The penis is unpredictable. Unease grows inside the chest.

Dean strokes the penis gently and it twitches. With great effort, Castiel holds the rest of the body still.

Dean glances up at Castiel, grinning. Then he takes the penis into his mouth. Heat and unexpected pressure, strange pulling sensations.

Castiel bites down and tastes blood on the tongue. A soft whimper still escapes.

The sound just encourages Dean, who increases his efforts. Which makes the feelings distinctly worse. This is the least relaxed Castiel has ever been.

Dean gags a little. He pulls away abruptly and pants, “Sorry, haven't done that in a while.” He half-rises, still between the legs, to kiss Castiel on the mouth.

Relieved, Castiel returns the kiss. Kissing is good. It's part of the closeness Castiel has always wanted with Dean. Breathing together, almost melting into one another.

Dean pulls back sharply, standing up the rest of the way. “What the—is that blood?”

Castiel blinks up at him, dazed.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks.

The haze of good emotions from the kiss disappears. “Yes,” Castiel says again. The tongue hurts but it won't be a problem.

“You don't have to try to be quiet,” Dean says, kneeling down again. He grasps the penis once more.

Castiel grips the blanket tightly in both hands. It isn't over?

This time, Dean spends longer touching the penis and testicles with his hands. Castiel tries to pay attention to his rhythm as a distraction. Perhaps there’s a trick to this action. Some kind of way for Castiel to understand how it’s supposed to be relaxing.

When Dean takes the penis into his mouth, Castiel is more ready than last time. No blood, no sounds. Dean said there was no need for silence but Castiel doesn't know which noises are appropriate. It's safer to refrain.

The penis is reacting. Dean's sucking and licking increases. Castiel's breath comes faster. The body wants to move and it takes considerable strain to keep still.

A moan escapes Castiel's control. The skin-crawling wrongness of the sensations is so strong that it's hard to imagine it getting worse but it does. It has to stop soon. Dean wanted to do this. Castiel is doing this for Dean.

Dean pulls away from the penis, just as it emits a whitish substance which goes everywhere: Dean's face, the pajama bottoms, Dean's undershirt. Oh, right, ejaculation. The whitish substance is semen. Unwelcome aftershocks roll through the body. Castiel pants raggedly.

Dean smiles up at Castiel. “There we go,” he says, proudly.

Castiel tries to smile back. That seemed like some kind of conclusion. Maybe they can stop now.

Dean stands up. “Just a sec,” he says. He uses some Kleenex to wipe his mouth and tosses the box to Castiel. “Sorry, I know it's messier this way.”

Castiel cleans the penis quickly and tucks it back into the pajama bottoms before it can do anything else alarming. “This way?”

Dean laughs a little and picks up the whisky bottle from on top of his bureau. “You never spied on blowjobs before?” He doesn't wait for Castiel to answer. Pouring himself a drink, Dean continues, “Most guys prefer it if you swallow.”

“Oh.” Castiel has a lot to learn. A horrible thought: does Dean want Castiel to do that to him?

Dean gulps down half of his drink and offers the glass to Castiel. Castiel accepts it, draining the rest of the liquid. It burns all the way down the throat into the empty stomach. Drinking is much more unpleasant as a human than as an angel.

The eyes water slightly. Castiel blinks to clear them, and Dean is staring with a strange expression on his face. No colours to help Castiel out with guessing his mood.

“Well, uh, I'll see you in the morning,” Dean says, breaking eye contact after a long moment.

Oh. This is one of the nights where Dean needs to be alone. Castiel stands up, selfishly wanting to stay. It's much easier to sleep in Dean's bed. “Goodnight Dean.”

Dean just nods in response, looking away. Castiel hesitates, then touches his shoulder lightly. Dean's muscles are tense, unwelcoming. Castiel removes the hand.

“Cas?” Dean asks, when Castiel is halfway through his doorway.

Castiel turns back, hope rising in the chest.

“Can I have that back?” Dean asks, gesturing. Castiel realizes his whisky glass is still in one of the hands.

“Of course.” Castiel gives it to him, their fingers brushing. Castiel tries not to react outwardly to the burst of longing inside.

“Goodnight,” Dean says, free hand on his door handle. Almost touching Castiel but also asking Castiel to leave.

With an effort of will, Castiel takes the verbal cue and steps backwards into the hall. Dean pulls his door shut.

Castiel sighs. It's going to be another long night.

----

In the room Castiel uses when sleeping alone, the bed is the same as in Dean's room but somehow much less comfortable. The body finds very little rest here.

Sleeping is a strange activity. The hallucinations that accompany it are disturbing. The time dilation of hours into subjective minutes is disorienting. Maybe it's easier when practiced from infancy.

Castiel needs to find some way of getting better at sleeping alone. The body suffers without sufficient sleep. Bothering Dean every night isn't acceptable.

After a few hours in the bed, Castiel gives up. The head still aches from crying earlier, compounded by lack of rest. Maybe coffee will help.

Of all the human food-related rituals, Castiel likes morning coffee the most. The hotter and stronger, the better.

Dean is already in the bunker's large kitchen. He wordlessly passes Castiel a mug.

Castiel nods in thanks and takes a sip. This coffee was made with milk and lots of sugar. It’s also no longer warm. Too bad. Castiel takes another sip. The taste is really very awful.

“So, that's how it is, huh?” Dean asks.

The undercurrent of anger in his voice makes Castiel look up. “How what is?”

“You just take whatever I give you, even if you don't like it,” Dean says.

Castiel sets the mug down on the table. “Dean, what are you talking about?”

“Last night,” Dean bites out. “Did you want me to... did you enjoy it? At all?”

What can Castiel say? The truth will hurt Dean's feelings and reveal Castiel's inadequacies.

“I saw your face. It's the same face you made just now, with the bad coffee. And last night, with the whisky,” Dean says. He pushes away from the counter and plants his feet in front of Castiel, ready for a fight. “You think I want you to blindly say yes to me like Sam said yes to—to Lucifer?”

It isn't the same thing at all. Sam didn't agree to be Lucifer's vessel blindly. Castiel frowns. Dean's metaphors aren't usually this wide of the mark.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean prompts. “Do you?”

“The situations are not—” Castiel starts but Dean cuts in.

“Yes or no.”

“No,” Castiel growls. It's frustrating to know that's the answer Dean wants but not to know why.

“Then why did you do it?” Dean asks.

“I don't understand,” Castiel says.

Dean throws up his hands. “What don't you understand? I told you to tell me if you didn't want to do something!”

“Because I want you!” Castiel blurts out.

Dean's eyes widen. He stares at Castiel.

“I am trying to learn how to do this! I want to be with you. Everything else gets in the way.” Castiel wishes Dean could hear prayers. This would be so much easier to express without spoken words.

“But you're—dammit Cas, I can see how unhappy you are! Maybe this whole thing was a mistake,” Dean says.

“Any comfort I've had lately is from you and Sam and being here in your home,” Castiel says, the words and frustration pouring out now. “I lost my Grace. I can't fight. I can't fly. All the angels forced to Earth hate me and I could bring them down on you if I leave.”

Dean flinches. “Cas, I'm not saying you have to leave.”

“Aren't you?” Castiel asks, anger rising. “Should I stay here and pretend I feel nothing for you? Do you think that would make me less unhappy?”

“I don't know what to do!” Dean yells. He snatches up the still-full mug and throws it to the floor. It shatters on impact, spraying deliberately bad coffee and ceramic shards everywhere.

In the ringing silence afterwards, Dean and Castiel both stare at the mess.

Finally, Dean says, “I'll go buy a new one.” He doesn't look at Castiel as he leaves the kitchen but the lines of his body show he's still angry.

Castiel's own anger broke when the mug did. Only exhaustion fills the body now.

“Bad morning?” Sam asks.

“Yes,” Castiel says, without turning around. Much more accurate than the regular greeting. “I'll clean it up.” Human life involves a lot of cleaning, most of it unpleasant.

“Okay. I'll make you more coffee then,” Sam says, coming into the kitchen. “Black, right?”

“Thank you, Sam.”

----

With two cups of strong coffee inside the body, Castiel feels slightly better. Along with coffee, Sam made them both toast. Peanut butter and jelly on toast is different than in a sandwich but it's mostly a matter of texture.

A young woman gave Castiel a PB&J sandwich out of her lunch the day Dean and Sam tracked Castiel down in Detroit. That unexpected kindness is a treasured memory.

Sam even sits down at the kitchen table with Castiel. It's surprisingly pleasant to eat together.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” Sam asks, ruining the companionable silence.

Castiel considers. “Do you want to hear about it?”

Sam makes a face. “Usually, I stay far, far away from Dean's... relationships. But you don't exactly have a whole lot of people to talk to about whatever is going on.”

“Communication is not one of my strengths,” Castiel says, attempting a smile.

Sam just waits for Castiel to continue.

Castiel sighs. “It might be easier to understand Dean if I could still see his colours.”

Sam's eyebrows go up. “His what?”

“The colours of his aura,” Castiel amends. “I can't see them anymore. They're very bright.”

“So angels can read someone's emotions through their aura?” Sam asks. “Like red for anger, blue for calm, that kind of thing?”

Castiel shakes the head. “There isn't a direct correlation between specific colours and specific emotions, as far as I know. And even if there was, it would be different from human to human. It's more that auras change as emotions change.”

“You've never mentioned them before,” Sam says.

“My perception was different in many ways.” Auras are part of how Castiel was able to recognize fellow angels in their various vessels. Now they will have to introduce themselves. Though Castiel is more likely to be killed on sight than engaged in polite conversation.

“Some humans can see auras. Seers and psychics, I mean,” Sam says, looking down at his empty plate like he's still hungry.

“Can you?” Castiel asks.

Sam's head snaps up. “Me? I'm not really psychic. That was the, uh, demon blood.”

It's more likely that the demon blood enhanced abilities Sam already had. If he tried, he could be psychic again. Maybe he's buried that part of himself. It's a touchy subject so Castiel doesn't argue with Sam's assessment.

“Do you remember what my aura looked like?” Sam asks, his voice a little hesitant.

“Strong,” Castiel says immediately. “Very bright, like Dean's, though it changed less than his. Lots of green, I think.”

Sam blinks. “Well, green isn't the first colour I would've guessed.”

“I didn't look at yours as much,” Castiel confesses.

That makes Sam smile. “Not surprising.” He leans forward. “Look, I know Dean's stressed right now, but it's mostly because he doesn't want to mess this up with you.”

Dean isn't the one messing it up. Castiel tilts the head. “How do you know?”

Sam stands up, plate in hand. “I have eyes,” he says, cryptically, and takes his dishes to the sink. “Don't worry too much. Everything will work out.” He leaves the kitchen.

Castiel thinks about having another cup of coffee but too much caffeine is as unpleasant as too little. The body is restless enough. Castiel hasn't set foot outside the bunker in over a week.

----

When Dean returns, Castiel is reading in the library. Researching how to reverse Metatron's spell with books written by humans without a direct connection to Heaven is possibly a futile exercise. Especially books without indexes.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, his voice a little hesitant.

Castiel looks up. The eyes take a moment to adjust to the world outside the printed page. “Hello Dean.”

Dean holds out a mug. “Here, got this for you.”

Castiel accepts it. The mug is bright blue, with a yellow-and-black cartoon bee that is raised to the touch. On the other side, the mug says, in white lettering, 'Remember: Bee Yourself.'

“This is lovely, Dean,” Castiel says, looking up again. Dean is leaning against the table now, within easy reach from where Castiel sits. “Thank you.”

Dean shrugs, seemingly uncomfortable for some reason. “Promise I won't break this one.”

The mug Dean broke was plain, mostly white, and utterly without distinction. It was the same as all of the other mugs left here by the Men of Letters. This mug is different. It has words, colour, a bee. Castiel likes bees. Dean knows that. Something tightens in the chest at the thought of this mug shattered on the floor. The hands cradle it protectively.

“So, uh,” Dean says, then clears his throat. “Are we good?”

Castiel frowns, not sure what Dean is asking.

Dean clarifies, “You and me. Do we need to talk more?”

“I enjoy talking to you,” Castiel says. Even when they argue.

Dean sighs but he's also smiling a little. “Okay, fine.” He shifts closer to Castiel until their legs touch, nudging the book on the table aside. “The main thing is, I want you to be happy, okay? Or the closest we can get, with everything else going on.”

Castiel attempts a smile. It's difficult. “I'm trying.”

“I know, I know,” Dean says. “I'm not saying this right.” He studies the wall behind Castiel for a moment. “When something happens and you don't like it, you shouldn't just put up with it. Sure, there's shit you can't change but... I don't want that to be me.”

Castiel is too tired to follow Dean's logic properly. “Dean, I do like you.”

“But you didn't like what I did last night,” Dean says, eyes still fixed on the wall.

That's true. “It wasn't relaxing for me,” Castiel admits.

Dean rubs the back of his head, glancing at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I should've picked up on that when you were bleeding.”

Human bodies are so fragile. It's exhausting. “That was unintentional,” Castiel says.

“Good,” Dean says. He nudges Castiel with his leg. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Castiel pushes the book further away with a sigh of relief, setting the bee mug down beside it. “Yes. Please.”

Dean laughs a little. “Yeah, whenever you're ready to start ripping pages out, it's time for a break.” He stands up and extends a hand to Castiel.

Castiel takes it. Dean pulls as Castiel stands up, though no assistance is necessary. Castiel doesn't let go as they walk to Dean's room and neither does Dean.

----

They are out somewhere, at a party. Many people crowd around, but Castiel barely notices them, attention fixed on Dean. Dean's laughing, accepting a plate from someone. The plate has a slice of chocolate cream pie with a fork sticking out of it.

Castiel smiles. Dean takes a bite of the pie, grinning at Castiel over the plate, his eyes sparkling. Then, he pauses. Chokes.

Frozen in place, Castiel tries to reach out, tries to help. No movement is possible.

Dean collapses and Castiel still can't move. Around them, the party goes on, like nothing is happening. For a breathless eternity, Castiel watches as Dean dies.

Despair floods in. The sensation of falling. Everything goes dark.

“Cas? Hey, wake up.”

Castiel gasps, eyes flying open. Something is on the shoulders, holding Castiel in place. It takes a frantic moment to realize it's Dean's arm and by then, he's pulling away.

“It's okay,” Dean says. “You just fell asleep.”

“Dean?” Castiel asks, though it is a redundant question, breathing hard. They're in Dean's bedroom, on Dean's bed, both sitting against his headboard. The heart is pounding.

“I'm here,” Dean says. He gently nudges Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel sighs in relief. Everything is fine. Dean is alive. “Good.”

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, inevitably.

“Yes,” Castiel says, bringing the breath back under control.

Dean snorts, like he doesn't think so. “Nightmare, huh?”

The dream isn't fading quickly enough, images remaining in the mind. Castiel doesn't want to talk about it. Talking might make it feel more real.

“If you don't like westerns, we could watch something else,” Dean says, his voice light. He shifts away slightly.

Castiel pushes a hand through the hair. “I do like them.”

“Falling asleep within the first five minutes of Tombstone tells me otherwise,” Dean says. “Though it was funny to watch you sleep for once.”

“You said watching people sleep is creepy, not funny,” Castiel reminds him.

Dean grins. “Special circumstances for people you're dating. And anyway, most of the creepiness was when you'd fly in and I didn't know you were there until I woke up to you staring at me.”

A surge of emotion catches Castiel off guard. Despair, dark and deep, almost like in the dream. “That won't happen again,” Castiel says.

“Right, cause now we're—” Dean starts to say, then stops. “Shit, Cas, I wasn't thinking.”

Castiel's wings are destroyed. Beyond healing. Their structural integrity is lost and their feathers are burned away. Castiel felt it happening, falling from Heaven, even graceless. Now there’s no sensation at all.

“We'll get your grace back,” Dean says, laying his hand on the thigh. His hand is warm. His touch stabilizes Castiel.

“Thank you,” Castiel says. Does Dean know Castiel will never fly again?

“Do you want to try again with the movie?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods, distracted. Dean dislikes long-term planning but perhaps this should be an exception. Combat strategies will need to be reconsidered. Castiel has already had to fight as a human and it's more difficult than expected. Even Castiel's blade can’t be stored properly, just carried around like a non-heavenly weapon.

Dean taps the leg. When Castiel looks up, Dean's gaze is thoughtful. “Actually, I think there's something else I want to watch with you.”

Castiel puts on shoes beside Dean doing the same and, curious, follows him out of his room and down the hall. They walk all the way to the bunker's entrance. Castiel stops at the base of the stairs and Dean doesn't.

A condition of Castiel staying in the bunker is Castiel staying in the bunker. Dean made that very clear when Castiel arrived. Is this a test? “Dean,” Castiel says, as Dean continues climbing the stairs.

He turns, halfway up. “Come on. We won't go far and Baby's warded.”

The temptation is too great. Castiel follows him.

Dean opens the bunker door casually. Castiel can feel the breath coming faster again. Maybe this is a dream too.

Sunlight halos Dean as he continues outside, soft and golden. He's so beautiful.

Castiel steps over the threshold, into the light. Dean is lost in the brightness for a moment and Castiel squints, trying to find him again. The door is left to fall closed by itself.

Air. How is the air so different when it's moving? Castiel feels a breeze flutter against the skin, draws it into the lungs unevenly. It should be the same air as inside the bunker but it isn't.

The eyes begin to adjust. Castiel devours the landscape, wanting to see everything at once. Tall grass, shrubs, trees, and the gravel road. Strange to think this view looked ordinary ten days ago. Dean walks through it like it's still unremarkable to him, boots crunching, not even turning his head. He did go out earlier today, so it probably is.

Then Dean does turn, to look back at Castiel. His eyebrows draw together and he stops walking. “You okay, Cas?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Castiel answers. It's irritating that Dean and Sam still ask when only one response is correct. Years ago, Castiel used to say 'no' sometimes in answer to this type of question, but from their reactions then, it was a social lapse. Rote call and response sets are important in many human cultures.

“We'll be fine, don't worry,” Dean says.

It's hard to remember caution when everything around them is bursting with life. Castiel nods, since Dean seems to be waiting for a response.

“Come on,” Dean says again, holding his hand out.

Castiel joins him, taking his hand. They have to adjust their grip so they can walk comfortably side-by-side. As if even though he offered, Dean didn't expect Castiel to accept.

The Impala gleams in the sunlight. Unexpectedly, Dean opens the front passenger door. He doesn't get in but instead, lets go of the hand and circles around his car. Castiel cautiously gets in after Dean opens his own door. This seems to be the correct action, since Dean smiles as he starts the car.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks, though it doesn't matter.

“I thought we could go watch the sunset,” Dean says. His shoulders tense a little.

Castiel nods. “I would like to see it.”

Dean exhales softly. “Guess you've seen a lot of sunsets, huh?” he asks.

“Not with you,” Castiel says. And it will look different to human eyes.

Dean turns on music and Led Zeppelin fills the car. Then he extends his arm across the top of the bench seat. His fingers hang down to brush the shoulder. It's nice to see him relaxed.

Riding in the Impala doesn't feel as good as walking outside. The world is all around them but remote, distant. Castiel presses fingertips to the window, trying to feel the wind of their speed through the glass.

The spot Dean has in mind isn't far. They pull off the highway after only about fifteen minutes. Dean has to drive much more slowly, since the road is heavily rutted. Castiel has the sudden urge to open the car door and run alongside. Pushing it down is difficult.

The road turns but Dean continues straight ahead a few yards, stopping on a patch of grass. The sun blazes in the sky ahead of them, its lower edge just touching the horizon, turning clouds and outstretched fields golden and orange.

Dean lets out a long breath. “We made it,” he says.

They watch the sun set. Somehow, the more Castiel looks, the more there is to see.

When the star itself is hidden by the curvature of the planet and only fading colours remain in the sky, Dean turns off the car, silencing the music. He shifts closer, his hand is warm on the arm. “Come here,” he says.

Castiel moves towards Dean until they're leaning against each other. Dean's arm is over the shoulders again, but this time, it feels good. Comforting, rather than confining.

Dean takes a deep breath and Castiel matches him. Just for a moment, they’re in sync with each other.

The sky darkens and deepens. Night is approaching.

“I don't want this to end,” Castiel says. The words just fall out, breaking their comfortable silence.

“We don't have to go back yet,” Dean says. His fingers flex against the shoulder. “Though my arm is going numb.”

Castiel shifts, letting Dean get more comfortable, then draping an arm over his shoulders. “My turn,” Castiel says.

Dean's laugh is almost silent but Castiel can feel it in his body. “Thanks.”

They sit like that for a moment more, then Dean says, “Cas, I... I know I'm not good at this.”

“At what?” Castiel asks, confused.

“Romance,” Dean says.

It's a complicated subject but Castiel is sure of one thing. “You're better at it than I am.” Though that isn't much of a compliment. Castiel tries again. “This is an unprecedented situation so it's logical to make it up as we go.”

Dean leans his head against the left temple for a moment. “Don't you prefer to have a plan, Mister I-Commanded-Armies?” His tone is a little teasing.

“I want to be with you,” Castiel says, seriously. “I've wanted to be with you for... a long time.” Since the beginning.

Dean takes a deep breath, then another. “Hey, look at me?” he asks. “I want to tell you something.”

Castiel sits up, turning to face Dean, while still holding on to him. Their eyes meet. For a long moment, Castiel doesn't miss Dean's colours at all, staring into his eyes.

“I saw you at that dumpster where we picked you up and I thought, 'I've been there.' For the first time, it felt like you were within my reach,” Dean says. He reaches out, like he's demonstrating. His hand lands gently on the shoulder. “All the way back home, I kept thinking, 'everything's changed, everything's different.' And when we were finally in the bunker and you were safe, I realized I had a choice I didn't even think about before. So I kissed you.”

Dean leans in. Castiel meets him halfway and they remember their first kiss together. This kiss is less surprising, but just as wonderful.

The kiss deepens. Dean pulls Castiel closer.

Warmth and happiness rush through the body. Castiel eagerly pushes Dean against the back of his seat. The steering wheel is an obstacle but Castiel ends up partly in Dean’s lap anyway.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs. Castiel loves the taste of the nickname in Dean’s mouth.

Dean’s hands roam over the back and shoulders. The skin under the cloth he touches lights up with sensation.

Castiel gently runs a hand through Dean’s hair as they continue to kiss. It’s softer than it looks.

The stomach gurgles. Castiel ignores it but Dean shifts a little at the sound, causing the eyes to open. “Cas?” he asks, a question this time.

The body makes noises. It’s an inevitable part of earthly flesh. “It’s nothing,” Castiel says, blinking at Dean in the low light.

“Was that you?” Dean asks, “Are you hungry or something?”

“Yes.” Castiel tries to resume kissing. Dean gently pushes against the shoulder. Castiel reluctantly moves away, though not too far.

“What do you mean, ‘yes’? When did you last eat?” Dean asks.

His voice is concerned which is confusing. “This morning.” Castiel is usually hungry by this time of day. It’s annoying.

“This morning,” Dean echoes.

“Yeah. So I’ve already eaten today, I’m fine,” Castiel says. Can they go back to kissing now?

“Cas. No. You have to eat more than once a day,” Dean says, emphasizing the last few words. His face is doing something complicated.

Castiel never ate more than once a day as a human before arriving at the bunker. It made sense to continue on that way, unless Dean and Sam offer food.

“Okay, so we’re gonna get you some dinner. Burgers sound good?” Dean asks.

Burgers sound amazing. The stomach grumbles its agreement. “Of course,” Castiel says.

Dean smiles. It’s tighter than usual. “Great.”

Castiel begins moving back to the passenger seat. It’s disappointing the kissing and closeness is over for now.

Dean touches the left arm. “Hey, stay here.”

Castiel remains right beside Dean as he maneuvers the Impala around so they can return the way they came. It’s much darker outside than before. Castiel is still getting used to the limitations of human eyes.

“We have lots of food at the bunker,” Dean says, as he pulls onto the highway. “I’ll buy whatever you want, but you have to eat, okay?”

“I am eating,” Castiel protests.

“Not enough,” Dean insists.

“Humans can survive for several days without food, given adequate liquids,” Castiel says, reasonably.

Dean exhales forcefully. “We aren’t just surviving right now, Cas, we’re living.”

“Semantics,” Castiel snaps. This argument is frustrating. There’s so many unspoken rules. Castiel will never get them all right. And yet, Dean keeps expecting it.

“No, it’s—” Dean starts, then cuts himself off. He takes a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “Just trust me on this, Cas.”

He’s upset. Castiel thinks of, and discards, several ways of asking for more clarification. But nothing sounds right.

They travel to the fast food restaurant in silence, sitting further apart than before. When Dean pulls in to the drive-thru, Castiel squints past him at the menu. It isn’t laid out logically and most of the offerings seem very similar.

“Two bacon cheeseburgers,” Dean tells the crackling, electronic voice when it welcomes them. He drives forward, shifting to take his wallet out of his back pocket as he does.

Castiel doesn’t have any money. Jimmy’s wallet only has his identification and a faded photo of Claire in it. Castiel used the small amount of cash years ago, and the credit card stopped working soon after.

Dean pays for the food and hands the bag to Castiel. “You can get started on yours. I’ll eat when we get home,” he says, without looking at Castiel.

The burgers smell so good. For some reason, the stomach twists and Castiel isn’t as hungry anymore. “I can wait,” Castiel says.

“Eat, Cas,” Dean insists. He nudges the bag with his elbow.

Without Dean, Castiel wouldn’t have this food. Or clothing. The protection of the bunker. Castiel needs to figure out how to pay Dean back somehow, or at least to start contributing going forward.

Slowly, Castiel unwraps the burger and takes a bite. It tastes even better than it smells. The eyes close involuntarily.

Dean chuckles. “That good, huh?”

The mouth is full so Castiel just nods. The burger is gone before they’re halfway back to the bunker.

----

Dean eats with his usual sounds of enjoyment. Castiel watches. They’re sitting at the library table where Castiel spent the majority of the day. The bee mug is smooth and cool to the touch. The fingers enjoy the contrast of the bee’s raised form to the rest of the design.

Sam wanders into the room. “Oh, did you get take-out?” he asks.

It’s a rhetorical question, delivered without judgment, but Dean still tenses momentarily. He swallows hard before he says, “Figured you wouldn’t want any.”

“I ate dinner hours ago,” Sam says. His eyes flick to Castiel, a slight crease between his eyebrows. Then his expression relaxes. “Cool mug, Cas.”

“Thank you. Dean gave it to me.” Castiel releases the bee mug so Sam can admire it more easily.

Sam smirks. “Nice of him.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, no heat to it.

“What? I’m just saying—”

Dean stands up, wiping grease off his fingers with a paper napkin. “You’re just being a little shit,” he says.

Sam’s smirk gets bigger. “It’s cute, that’s all.”

Castiel agrees. The bee mug is cute.

Dean crumples his empty burger wrapper and tosses it into the empty bag with the used napkins. “Whatever. Come on, Cas,” he says.

Castiel gets up, leaving the bee mug on the table. It seems likely that they’re headed to Dean’s room again. Maybe Dean will want to sleep together. “Goodnight Sam,” Castiel says, just in case they don’t see each other before morning.

“Goodnight Cas,” Sam says, grinning. Then, louder than necessary, he calls, “Goodnight Dean!”

Dean raises his middle finger in response, not looking back as he leaves the room.

Human siblings behave strangely sometimes. Castiel follows Dean down the hall.

Dean walks straight to his bedroom. He kicks off his shoes and settles onto his bed, with his back to the hard headboard. “Wanna pick up where we left off?” he asks Castiel, smiling.

That position doesn’t look very comfortable. After removing the shoes, Castiel crosses the room to the other side of Dean’s bed. Picking up the extra pillow, Castiel kneels on the bed and gently pulls Dean’s shoulder. “Lean forward,” Castiel instructs when Dean doesn’t move.

Dean shifts forward and Castiel pushes the pillow behind his back. There, that should be better.

There’s a strange look on Dean’s face when Castiel meets his eyes again. He’s a little flushed.

The head tilts slightly. “Is that okay?” Castiel asks.

“Sure,” Dean breathes.

Castiel kisses him. The angle is awkward so Castiel shifts, ending up straddling Dean’s lap. Dean’s hands come up, holding on to the shoulders.

It’s easier to kiss without a steering wheel in the way.

Warmth grows inside Castiel. The heat of it feels a little like angelic grace. Castiel shoves the comparison away, concentrating on being here, now, with Dean.

Dean pushes forward, leaning into the kissing. One of his hands moves to the chest, while the other holds on the back of the neck. Castiel isn’t sure what he’s trying to do, until Dean folds back one side of the stolen hoodie Castiel is wearing and starts guiding it off the shoulder.

The bunker is often chilly but Dean is correct in assuming the heat of his body makes the hoodie unnecessary. Castiel tries to assist in its removal without success. It doesn’t matter. Kissing Dean is more important than fumbling with clothing.

Dean perseveres and the hoodie is discarded. Castiel can feel his lips curving up. It’s just as good to taste Dean’s smile as to see it.

The pillow behind Dean has slipped out of place in all of their activity. Blindly, through a haze of kisses, Castiel fumbles to put it back.

“Leave it,” Dean murmurs. He kisses along the neck. It feels amazing.

Castiel gasps, “Dean.”

Dean chuckles almost inaudibly, the mirth vibrating through his body. “You like that, huh?” he asks, lips brushing the skin as he speaks.

“Yeah,” Castiel says, barely getting the word out.

Dean hums against the skin. Castiel shivers.

The body is relaxing, any remaining tension melting under Dean’s touch. Castiel has to hold on as Dean leans even further forward, pulling the shirt aside to kiss the collarbone. This shirt is borrowed from Dean, its collar already stretched and worn.

“Let’s take this off,” Dean says, lifting his head.

Castiel stares into his eyes for a long moment before the words register. Shuffling back is awkward. Castiel reluctantly lets go of Dean to pull the shirt off.

Dean’s eyes are drawn to the Enochian warding tattoo. Castiel resists an odd urge to cover it. The artist did her best and the ward was effective enough to help Castiel survive this long. But it isn’t particularly decorative.

“We should get you an anti-possession one to match,” Dean says.

The eyes blink a few times outside of their ordinary sequence. He’s right, demonic possession is a danger now. Castiel doesn’t want to think about the possibility.

Dean takes off his own shirts while Castiel tries not to think about demons. His anti-possession tattoo is crisp against his pale skin. Castiel remembers purposefully preserving it while restoring Dean’s body after resurrecting him. His Enochian warding, like Sam’s, is carved directly into his ribs, not merely tattooed on the skin above them like Castiel’s.

Dean unbuttons his jeans. Just that, then he is kissing Castiel again, both of them sitting upright in the middle of his bed.

The inner warmth doesn’t come back fully. Instead, Castiel is distracted while they kiss. What is going to happen next? The muscles tense.

Dean is growing increasingly tense as well. He’s shifting on the bed. His kisses get faster, more urgent.

Even with the obvious build-up, Castiel is still surprised when Dean pushes his hand past the drawstring waistband of the stolen sweatpants. The penis is covered by the borrowed underwear but Dean’s hand on it feels wrong. Especially when it responds.

Memories of last night’s activities freeze Castiel in place. Dean stops kissing the mouth and leans his forehead on the shoulder, distractedly kissing the skin he can reach. He moves his hand inside the underwear.

Castiel inhales sharply. This isn’t... it doesn’t feel good. Castiel doesn’t like it.

The skin is crawling. Castiel wants to push Dean away entirely, to run out of the room. No. All of the good feelings are gone. Castiel’s mind is full of sharp edges, like broken ceramic shards. The heartbeat thumps in the ears.

Dean said Castiel has to tell him when this happens.

“Dean,” Castiel says. The voice wobbles.

Dean hums in answer.

“Stop,” Castiel forces out.

Dean freezes. Then he withdraws his hand from the half-erect penis. He meets Castiel’s gaze, his pupils wide open. “But...” he pants, surprised.

“You said,” Castiel starts. Dean’s face falls. The rest of the words don’t come out.

They stare at each other for a long moment before Dean pulls away. He swings his legs over the side of the bed. After an endless few seconds, Dean stands up, walks over to his dresser, and pours a glass of whisky. He drinks half of it in one swallow, pauses, then drinks the rest.

Castiel just watches, heart slowly calming but stomach twisting. The bacon cheeseburger sits like a lump of clay inside the body.

At last, Dean sets down his empty glass. He rubs his face with both hands, then half turns to Castiel. “I’m beat. How about you?” he asks.

Does he want Castiel to leave? “I’m always tired,” Castiel says, honestly exhausted by the thought of trying to sleep alone again.

Dean nods, the motion barely noticeable. “Well, I’m going to bed.”

“Can I stay in here tonight?” The question pops out before Castiel realizes it’s on the tongue.

Dean turns quickly. “You want to?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Yes.” Doesn’t Dean know that?

“But...” Dean says. He trails off the same way as before, sighing. “Then, yeah, of course you can stay, Cas.”

Later, when they’re in Dean’s bed—urination is a constant trial to Castiel—both of them lie on their backs to stare at the dark ceiling. Dean took off his jeans and Castiel left the sweatpants on.

“Goodnight,” Dean says, rolling onto his side to face the wall.

“Goodnight Dean.” Castiel turns the same way. Dean’s body heat is tangible even with the distance between them.

Castiel closes the eyes in frustration. Why is this worse than being alone?

Giving in to temptation, Castiel moves closer to Dean. Dean makes a questioning sound as the bed creaks. Castiel cuddles Dean with an arm over his torso and pulls their bodies together. “I’m sorry,” Castiel whispers in his ear.

Dean’s back relaxes from its tense posture. In the dark, he clasps the hand to his chest. “No, it’s okay, Cas. Glad you told me.”

The chest loosens in relief. Castiel breathes in. Dean’s scent is comforting. Castiel holds him, wishing for wings, to be able to enfold Dean more completely.

Thoughts from the drive-thru come back to Castiel. Being human is so difficult. Castiel can’t keep making everything harder for Dean. There has to be some way to mitigate the burden Castiel has become.

Slowly, Dean’s hand slackens its grip. He might be asleep. But Castiel is wide awake.

----

Exhaustion blurs the page in front of Castiel the next morning, but the bee mug full of coffee is comforting to the hands. Castiel leans closer to the book, frowning at the cramped handwriting. This description of the heavenly spheres is drifting more and more metaphorical as it goes on. How is this useful for anyone?

“Hey Cas, can you give me a hand?” Sam calls.

Castiel looks up. Sam is standing in the war room, visible from the library. He's holding a little bowl, a heavy book open on the map table beside him.

Rising, Castiel hesitates on whether to bring the bee mug. Coffee and magic probably don't mix well. Castiel crosses the library and goes down the few stairs empty-handed.

Sam sprinkles seeds of some kind as well as bright orange and yellow petals into the bowl. He glances up at Castiel, smiling. “So get this: I found a sight spell that lets regular humans see auras. Want to try it out?”

Surprised, Castiel just stares at him. “A sight spell?”

“Yeah, I went looking after we talked yesterday,” Sam says, shrugging. “This one doesn't last long but it's pretty simple.”

“This isn't necessary,” Castiel says, then corrects, “I mean, I didn't expect you to—”

Sam interrupts, “I know. But I wanted to.” He offers the bowl. “Here, take this.” Castiel accepts it carefully.

Sam bends over the open book, clearly rereading the spell. “Okay, ready? Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

Castiel does, breathing in the faint scents of fennel and marigold.

“Sphaera revelare,” Sam says. There's a flash bright enough to sting even closed eyes. Castiel suppresses a flinch.

Sam pulls the bowl gently out of the hands. “Here, I'll just reset the ingredients for me.”

Castiel opens the eyes. Sam is hunched over a basket of supplies Castiel didn't notice before on the map table. Colour blazes around him: bright yellow, deep green, flickering blue-white. Wait.

“Is it working yet?” Sam asks, straightening up. Faint blue light outlines his entire body, closer to his skin than the other colours. It looks like... but it can't be.

“Cas? Are you okay?” Sam asks. His concerned voice sounds far away.

Castiel clenches the hands into fists, concentrating. The pattern is almost invisible, not weak but hidden. It's unmistakable. Sam is possessed by an angel. “Who are you?” Castiel growls.

The bowl crashes to the floor as Sam's face changes. Light flares in his aura. Blue-white is the only colour there now.

Castiel instinctively tries to draw but no blade slides into the hand. Anger wars with confusion inside the chest. Sam wouldn't have agreed to be an angelic vessel, not for any reason. It doesn't make any sense.

“Now look what you've done,” the angel says with Sam's mouth, waving to the shattered bowl and scattered spell ingredients.

What Castiel has done? This intruder is the one in an unwilling vessel. “I ask again, who are you?”

Sam's body is standing taller than usual with the angel in control. Castiel didn't realize how much Sam hunches his shoulders most of the time. “Call me Ezekiel,” the angel says.

Castiel squints at the angel's aura. Sam's spell doesn't entirely recreate the way Castiel used to see them but it's similar enough. The heartbeat speeds up. “No. I know Ezekiel. Tell me who you are ,” Castiel demands, taking a step closer.

The angel gestures with Sam's hand. Invisible force pushes Castiel back, shoes skidding across the floor. The edge of the lowest library step hits the ankles and Castiel falls up the short flight of stairs backwards. The skull makes a sickening crack as it strikes the stone floor. Castiel groans and tries to rise.

“I would rather not be your enemy, Castiel,” the unknown angel says. “But it looks like you have already cast me as the villain.” Footsteps come closer as the angel approaches.

Castiel fights the solid wall of air holding the body down. There must be a way out. Failing that, a way to bleed and make a banishing sigil. But no, that won't help Sam at all.

The angel stands at the feet, staring down at Castiel with a pitying expression on Sam's face. “How the mighty have fallen. Fallen in love even, from what I hear.”

“How long?” Castiel gasps.

“Weeks,” the angel says. “You already know that. The Trials, Castiel. Have you forgotten them so quickly?”

Castiel remembers calling Dean from a gas station payphone after falling. Dean frantic about Sam. Asking about angels. “You're healing Sam?” Castiel asks, incredulous.

Sam's head nods. “I am. It's much easier to heal from the inside. You know that.”

Castiel does know. “He wouldn't have let you in.” But then it clicks. Weeks ago, Dean asked Castiel over the phone about Ezekiel.

“It is a bit more convoluted than the usual arrangement,” the angel admits.

Bile fills the throat and Castiel has to swallow before speech is possible. “You lied to Dean. He asked me and I vouched for Ezekiel. And then...” Castiel trails off, frantically trying to work it out while the head pounds and the body protests its uncomfortable position on the stairs.

“And then Dean prompted Sam to say yes to me,” the angel says. “I erased that memory and ever since, Dean has helped me hide from Sam, lest he expel me before I finish healing him.”

No. It can't be. “Dean wouldn't do that,” Castiel protests. The breathing is faster, panic and dread overcoming anger.

The angel smiles with Sam's mouth. It's terrible. “Ask him yourself.”

“Sam?” Dean calls. His voice is coming from the bedroom hallway, behind the angel, coming closer as he continues. “Have you seen—Cas!”

Running footsteps echo through the room. The angel turns toward them. “No!” Castiel yells, fearing the worst.

“Stop,” the angel says quietly.

Dean grunts, like he just ran into a wall. The force holding Castiel weakens slightly for a moment as the angel's attention is divided. Castiel takes advantage and struggles into a sitting position on the stairs.

Dean has one foot forward, frozen in the middle of a step. His aura blazes in a symphony of colour. The angel is halfway between him and Castiel. “Zeke,” Dean says. “What the hell? Cas, are you okay?”

Zeke. Ezekiel. Dean did know Sam is possessed. Castiel swallows. The stomach is in knots.

“He's fine,” the angel says, still facing Dean.

“Cas?” Dean asks. His concern is almost physically painful.

Trying to focus, Castiel says, “That isn't Ezekiel.”

Dean's eyes go wide and his colours shift wildly. “What? Who is it then?”

“Does my name matter that much?” the angel asks in an even tone, though Castiel can see the tension in Sam's shoulders. “Dean, you promised me you could distract Castiel so he wouldn't find out. All that relationship nonsense.”

The words hit Castiel like a blow, driving air out of the lungs in an involuntary gasp. A distraction. There's a sickening logic to the idea. It all happened so fast.

Dean's face visibly pales, though the colours of his aura are brighter if anything. “No, Cas, it wasn't like that,” he says. But his eyes keep sliding away.

Castiel can't breathe. Something is wrong with the chest.

“Let go of me!” Dean yells, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. He glares at the angel. “You son of a bitch, let us go right now! We have a deal and you pull this crap?”

“If I let go of Sam now, he'll die,” the angel says, voice rising, “And I'm only protecting myself.”

“Oh, you're gonna need protecting all right, if you keep threatening my brother,” Dean growls.

The angel sighs. “Dean, that's the opposite of what I'm doing. I will abide by our agreement, if you do the same.”

“Tell us your name,” Castiel croaks. The body is shaking slightly now, though the external temperature hasn't changed. But this is important. More important than heartbreak Castiel should've seen coming.

The angel turns to Castiel. “You don't know me, so why does it matter?”

“Cas knows all the angels,” Dean cuts in. “So why don't you give it a shot?”

“Gadreel,” the angel says, still looking at Castiel.

The betrayer. No wonder Castiel didn’t recognize him.

“Cas? Who is he?” Dean asks.

Castiel explains, “Gadreel is the sentry who let Lucifer into the Garden of Eden. He has been imprisoned in Heaven since the dawn of time.” And would’ve stayed there forever, without Metatron’s treachery.

A flicker of expression passes over Gadreel’s face. Sam’s face. Castiel doesn’t know what it means, if anything.

“Wait, like, Adam-and-Eve Garden of Eden?” Dean asks.

“We can’t trust him,” Castiel says, finally breaking eye contact with Gadreel to look at Dean.

“I was tricked, Castiel. Don’t tell me you can’t understand something like that,” Gadreel says.

Castiel flinches.

Gadreel continues, relentless, “If the two of us are competing, I’m sure you are winning now, with this latest fiasco.”

“Hey!” Dean barks. “At least Cas was trying to do something good. When has Lucifer ever helped anybody?”

Gadreel turns to glare at Dean. “My failures are my own concern, not yours. Sam still needs my help and I will still provide it.” Gadreel squares Sam’s shoulders and walks past Dean toward the bedroom hallway. “He won’t remember this, so I suggest you come up with a way to explain the missing time.”

“This isn’t over!” Dean yells.

Gadreel releases both of them once he has left the room. Dean stumbles as his foot comes down to complete his aborted step.

Castiel stands up on shaky legs. The head throbs. Unthinkingly, Castiel touches the back of the head and winces at the tenderness there.

“Are you hurt?” Dean asks. He walks over and lays a hand on the arm. “Let me see.”

Castiel leans away. “It's fine.”

“Cas, come on,” Dean says, moving closer. His colours are calmer now, mostly purple and orange.

“No,” Castiel snaps. Dean is only pretending to care. The lie is unbearable, now that Castiel knows the truth.

Dean jerks back. “Cas,” he says, sounding hurt. Red and yellow join the other colours in his aura. They're dimmer now. Sam did say the spell doesn't last very long.

There isn't enough air. Castiel needs to go. Walking away from Dean feels like ripping the heart out of the chest.

“Cas, wait,” Dean says. “Wait, please.”

Castiel stops, closing the eyes for a moment, facing away from Dean. A tear leaks out, then another. “Dean.” Castiel means to say more but all of the other words are gone.

“I was trying to save Sam,” Dean says.

“I know.”

“He was dying right in front of me, Cas, and Zeke—Gadreel said he could heal him. I had to, it was the only way.” Dean takes a deep breath. “I hate it, it sucks. It's been so hard not telling you. I just kept thinking it would be over soon.”

The hands clench into fists as Castiel tries desperately not to break down. “It's...” Castiel stumbles over the words. “It's over now.”

“What? No, it isn't.” Dean circles around Castiel to stand face-to-face, frowning. “Gadreel is still possessing Sam.”

“The pretending is over,” Castiel clarifies.

Dean shakes his head. “We have to keep it up with Sam. He can't know about Gadreel or he'll freak out.”

They're talking about two different things. Dean is still explaining deceiving Sam about his possession, not deceiving Castiel about their relationship.

“Cas, promise me you won't tell him,” Dean says, misinterpreting the silence. He reaches for Castiel but stops when Castiel steps back.

“You should tell him the truth,” Castiel says, angry on Sam's behalf now. “He deserves to know.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Dean snaps, his anger matching Castiel's. “He'll die!”

“According to Gadreel! Who pretended to be someone else to gain your trust!”

“I'm not taking the chance!” Dean yells.

“It's Sam's choice!” Castiel yells right back at him, fists clenched.

Dean growls, “Cas, I swear to God, if you tell him, I'll...” He trails off, breathing hard.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Dean's colours are completely gone now.

Castiel finally says, “I'm leaving.”

Dean rubs his forehead with one hand. He sounds profoundly irritated when he says, “Cas, you can't. It isn't safe.”

“I can't stay here.” The thought of playing along, when Castiel knows their relationship isn’t real, twists the stomach. No. Castiel can barely cope with the truth. Any kind of pretense would be doomed from the start. Castiel closes the eyes.

“They’ll kill you, Cas,” Dean says.

Who? Castiel has so many enemies.

Dean says, his voice strained, “I won’t let you.” His hand suddenly grips one of the wrists, causing the eyes to fly open.

Castiel stares at Dean, anger flaring again. “Won’t let me?” The words are made of steel.

Dean is pale, his jaw set. Freckles stand out on his skin but they won’t distract Castiel this time.

“If you want to keep me here, you’re going to have to chain me to the wall.”

Castiel means it seriously but Dean barks a laugh, relaxing slightly, though still holding on. “Well, I can’t do that. Crowley’s already in the dungeon.”

Is that a joke? “What?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, didn’t we tell you? Sam knows about that anyway,” Dean says.

What else has Dean kept secret? The hits keep coming. Castiel shakes the head, trying to clear it. “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh,” Dean says again. “I guess, with everything...” He gestures to Castiel with his free hand, only half-finishing the thought.

Everything. All the pretending. Castiel swallows hard. Tears are unproductive. They blur the eyes anyway.

“Cas?” Dean asks.

“Let me go.” Castiel tries to pull away and fails. It’s disconcerting to remember Dean is strong for a human.

“Are you—you’re crying.” Dean’s eyes search the face.

Blinking stings. The headache intensifies. Castiel has had enough. “Let. Go.”

Finally, Dean releases the wrist. Castiel steps around him, making for the stairs.

“Cas, wait,” Dean says again.

Castiel doesn’t stop this time. Up the stairs, through the front door, and into the world.

It’s still morning. The sun is hidden behind clouds. Castiel remembers stepping into sunlight yesterday. With Dean. The memory feels like another life.

The threatened tears don’t fully appear. A hard lump is caught in the chest. Castiel can barely breathe around it.

Walking down the highway toward Lebanon, the full impact of what Castiel has done only hits when the stomach growls. Only coffee, no food yet today. No money to buy food. It’s only luck and the chill of the bunker that has Castiel dressed for the day, instead of in pajamas.

No plan. Nowhere to go. Castiel truly has burned every bridge now.

Time is difficult as a human but it must be less than two hours before the Impala’s familiar rumble breaks into the quiet morning. The heart beats faster. Dean.

Castiel doesn’t turn around, as the car gets closer. Keeps walking, even as the Impala slows to a crawl alongside.

“Cas!” Dean calls over the engine.

Castiel grits the teeth and continues at the same pace. The car inches forward. “Cas, I... can you just stop for a minute?” Dean asks.

Abruptly, Castiel remembers doing this with Claire. Only it was Castiel calling to her and trying to talk from behind the wheel, while she just kept walking away. Castiel hopes she’s okay. Futilely, since there’s no way to help Claire if she isn’t.

That’s what makes Castiel stop, in the end. The car creeps on, until Dean can pull over. He springs out of the car, as if he thinks Castiel will disappear if he isn’t fast enough. He has a duffle bag in his arms.

“Finally. I—”

Castiel cuts Dean off. “If you hear from Claire, can you make sure she’s all right?”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Why, do you know something?”

“No. Can you—will you?” This is important.

“Cas, of course I will. She’s a kid. But she isn’t gonna call me, she’s gonna call you.” His brow furrows. “What’s going on?”

Castiel takes a deep breath. It doesn’t have any measurable effect. “Thank you, Dean.”

Somehow, it’s the wrong thing to say. Dean’s face darkens. “For fuck’s sake, Cas, you don’t have to thank me for that!” he snaps. He marches forward and thrusts the duffle bag toward Castiel. “Here, take this.”

Castiel has to accept the bag or let it fall to the ground. It’s full. Castiel doesn’t have this many possessions.

Dean says, “I called Charlie. She’ll meet you in Lebanon to give you some IDs. Address is in there.”

“I have Jimmy’s driver’s licence,” Castiel reminds him.

Dean shakes his head. “That name will raise too many red flags.”

Castiel is suddenly too tired to argue about something so petty. Charlie is on her way already. They’ve never met but Dean and Sam talk about her.

Dean shuffles his feet. “Look, Cas, I can’t... I can’t undo it but. Please.”

They stand there for a long moment, staring at each other. Castiel looks away first. The decision is already made. But any words of farewell stick in the throat.

After a long moment, Dean lets out a breath and says, “I put a phone in there. Call me if... just call me, okay?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, just stands there, looking at the ground. Tiny blades of grass weave through the gravel on the road’s shoulder. Persevering through adversity.

“What do I tell Sam?” Dean asks, suddenly.

The moment is broken. Castiel looks up, meeting Dean’s gaze again. “Whatever you like.”

This time, Dean is the one who looks away first. Castiel walks around him and the Impala in a wide arc and continues down the highway, the duffle bag weighing heavy on one shoulder.

----

By the time Castiel reaches Lebanon, the only emotion left is a dull sick feeling. Anger, hurt, and confusion have been worn down by miles of highway, much longer on foot. The body is unused to this level of sustained exertion. It complains.

The arms and shoulders ache from carrying the duffle bag. Castiel has switched which side the bag rests on, with the only result being that both shoulders are sore now. The feet are very hot. They hurt worse in some places than others. Castiel had this happen before, soon after becoming human. Skin on the feet forms little spots of tenderness filled with pus after long periods of walking. They hurt a surprising amount, especially after a rest.

Lebanon is very small for a human group settlement. There are only a few cars parked on the main street, one or two other pedestrians visible. It’s still more people than Castiel instinctively expects to see, used to only Sam and Dean in the enclosed world of the bunker.

The stomach growls. The sun has moved a little in the sky, directly overhead now. Maybe there’s food in the duffle bag. Eating from it is one way to make it lighter.

Castiel pulls it off the shoulder with a bitten-back groan. The bag is too heavy to hold up and open at the same time, so Castiel manages a few more steps to a convenient bench to begin the examination of its contents.

Clothing makes up the bulk of the bag: jeans, shirts, underwear, socks. All clean, all Dean’s. Castiel has been borrowing Dean’s clothes all along, of course, except the stolen clothing acquired at the laundromat where Castiel left Jimmy’s coat and suit.

The promised cell phone is there, with sticky note on it with ‘Corner Bar & Grill, Lebanon – Charlie’ written by Dean. It also has three unread texts. Castiel puts the phone back in the bag.

There’s money in the bottom of the bag, a thick roll of bills. The stomach makes another gurgle at the sight of it. It’s either too much or not enough. Castiel will have to count it later to find out which.

The only actual possession of Castiel’s in the whole bag is the angel blade. It’s familiar in the hand, comforting. The blade slips up the hoodie’s sleeve easily enough, though Castiel already knows it will become awkward to carry over time.

No food, no water. The money can buy both later but there’s no immediate relief. Castiel sighs, zips up the bag, and hoists it over the shoulder again.

The Corner Bar & Grill is even less busy than the street outside. There’s one patron, an older man with a frizzy grey beard, sitting at the bar. Castiel stands awkwardly in the entrance.

“Go ahead and sit anywhere, hon,” the bartender calls out. Her words are friendly but her face is tired.

Castiel chooses a booth in the back, sitting on the side facing the entrance. There is a little cardboard sign with food specials standing up on the table. Castiel studies it curiously.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender has wandered over, now with a pad of paper in her hand. They must be short-staffed.

“Um, ‘Buffalo wings’ and a glass of water,” Castiel says, making quotations with the fingers. “Please.”

“You got it.” She turns away without writing anything down.

Buffalo wings turn out to be made from chicken instead of bison, which is odd, but Castiel likes them anyway. The plate is nearly empty and the water glass has been refilled twice when another person arrives.

A young woman with wavy red hair and a brightly coloured plaid shirt looks around the bar. She’s carrying a messenger bag over her shoulder.

She waves when she sees Castiel and hurries over. “Hi, Cas? I’m Charlie.” She holds out her hand.

Castiel hastily wipes the fingers with a napkin and shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”

Charlie slides into the other side of the booth. “It’s so crazy we haven’t met before! I feel like I already know you.” She winces. “Sorry, was that weird? That was weird.”

Castiel understands what Charlie means. Dean and Sam talk about her, especially Dean. Castiel already knows a lot about her. She’s intelligent, resourceful, and a genius with computers.

“I mean, obviously from the boys but also uh, full disclosure, I did read all those Carver Edlund books and you’re in there too,” Charlie says.

“Carver Edlund?” Castiel asks, then realizes which books she means. “Oh, Chuck. The Winchester Gospels.”

Charlie grins. “Yep. Love the idea that they might end up in every motel nightstand in America one day.”

With the Apocalypse averted, Castiel doubts anyone will bother adding them to the biblical canon.

The bartender approaches their table, with her notepad in hand. “Oh, just a Coke for me,” Charlie says to her. Again, the bartender doesn’t write anything down.

Charlie lays her hands flat on the table and leans forward. “So. What’s your new mission?” she asks in a low voice.

Mission? Castiel just stares at her.

Charlie nods meaningfully. “You need IDs, you’re going off on your own. There has to be a reason.” Her eyes widen. “Oh! I’m not just curious: I wanna help.”

The bartender interrupts, bringing Charlie’s drink. Charlie’s posture straightens and she smiles. “Thanks.”

Then she turns back to Castiel. “I’ve been doing some hunting on my own.” She makes a face. “It’s a bit, y’know, messy and lonely so when Dean texted, I thought...” She trails off, her expression losing some of its animation.

Castiel clears the throat, ready to refuse, then reconsiders. There is a new mission, in fact. Not just trying to reopen Heaven.

“I do need help,” Castiel acknowledges, and Charlie perks up. “But you can’t tell Dean or Sam that we’re working together.”

Charlie frowns. “But Dean, at least, already knows you’re doing this.”

“He knows I left,” Castiel says.

Charlie’s eyes widen. She starts to say something but Castiel cuts her off.

“Sam’s possessed by an angel. My new mission is to save him.”

----

Charlie wants to know every detail.

Castiel explains about the Trials, Gadreel pretending to be Ezekiel, even about Dean’s ongoing deception of Sam. The only major part left out is Dean and Castiel’s relationship. It isn’t relevant. It wouldn’t be relevant even if it hadn’t been a lie.

The very thought of Dean makes the chest ache. Talking about him is difficult enough, without also talking about how he deceived Castiel.

“Wow,” Charlie says, when Castiel finishes. “Okay, so it’s two objectives: heal Sam and get Gadreel out?”

“Healing is where the difficulty lies,” Castiel agrees. “I saw Sam partway through the Trials and I think they damaged him on a molecular level.”

Charlie nods thoughtfully. “We should stay in Lebanon. We’ll probably need to get close to actually help Sam at all.” She pulls out her phone. “I’ll find somewhere for us to stay.”

Castiel hesitates. There hasn’t been a private moment to count Dean’s money yet. Is there enough to stay in a motel?

“Not a lot of options,” Charlie comments as she scrolls. “There’s a B&B just outside of town.” She glances up and shows Castiel the screen. “What do you think?”

It looks lovely: sunlight through the window illuminates a large bed and nightstands that match its wooden headboard. The many pillows are so inviting. There’s a desk too, partly out of the frame. It’s one of the nicest bedrooms Castiel has ever seen.

Castiel swallows. “I don’t think I can... afford that.”

Charlie blinks. “Oh, no worries, I got it.” She pulls the phone back and starts typing, presumably reserving the room.

The stomach twists. Castiel doesn’t know what to do. Surely this is a huge expense to take on for a near-stranger. But Charlie seems completely unbothered.

The bartender approaches their table. “Do you want anything else?” she asks. “Only we usually close up between lunch and dinner, so the cook’s off in a few minutes.”

“Just the bill, please,” Charlie says.

She only ordered a single drink, while Castiel had food. The food costs more, Castiel knows that much. Peeling bills off of the roll of money without taking it out of the duffle bag is challenging.

“Cas, I got it,” Charlie says. She pulls out her credit card, and lowers her voice. “This isn’t hooked to my bank account, if you know what I mean.”

Oh. Credit card fraud, like Dean and Sam often do. Dean’s cash might be stolen too, but he worked hard to get it, just like Charlie.

The bartender comes back with their bill and a card reader. “Thanks,” she says, “I’m on a split shift and I have to spend the middle of it going out to the Gas ‘n’ Sip.” She sighs.

“How come?” Charlie asks.

“My cousin runs it and she couldn’t get coverage for her appointment today. She’s having trouble finding somebody reliable to work there.” The bartender hands Charlie back her credit card.

“That’s nice of you to help her out,” Charlie says, smiling. The bartender smiles back.

Castiel watches the two of them, thinking. Somebody reliable. Castiel could probably pretend to be reliable. Gas ‘n’ Sip is a franchise, so Castiel has been in several of them before. The job might be more complicated than it seems from the outside but maybe not.

“Cas? You ready?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah.” Castiel zips up the duffle bag and stands up from the booth. The feet protest loudly.

Charlie leads the way out into the daylight and drives them to the B&B. “I got us two rooms,” she tells Castiel, “But they only have the one bathroom. It’s a pretty small place.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Castiel says.

Charlie glances at Castiel. “Do you... wanna take a shower when we get there? Not to, like, overstep but you kinda need one.”

----

Once Charlie has finished checking them in and retreated to her room to get settled, Castiel does decide to take a shower.

The bathroom is almost as nice as the bedroom, though much smaller. Castiel figures out how to turn the shower on, then how to adjust the temperature of the water. The water pressure isn’t as good as in the bunker’s shower.

Scrubbing with complimentary lavender-scented soap, Castiel shifts on the sore feet, trying to find a stance that hurts less. The blisters have definitely formed. There weren’t any first aid supplies in the duffle bag. Was there anything else missing?

It’s only then that Castiel remembers the bee mug, sitting on one of the bunker’s library tables this morning, half-full of coffee. Dean didn’t include it.

Castiel takes a ragged breath that turns into a sob. Yesterday, Castiel thought that gift from Dean meant something. Another lie.

Tears stream from the eyes. Awful noises come out of the mouth. The crying takes over the body. Castiel braces the hands against the cool tile wall of the shower and just lets go.

Hot water hitting the skin gradually soothes Castiel. The head aches but the steam helps. The feet feel a little better.

Turning off the water, Castiel slowly dries the body. The limbs are heavy with fatigue. There are hours left before nightfall.

The mission awaits. Castiel gets dressed.

----

Walking to work takes several hours so Castiel starts out early. The sun is rising. It’s still a novelty to be outside, in the world. Not set apart but in the midst of life.

Charlie really is a genius with computers. She applied online for the Lebanon Gas ‘n’ Sip job on Castiel’s behalf with the name Steve Milton, to match the IDs she made. Milton was Anna’s human last name. Charlie explained the name choice was purposeful: on paper, Castiel is now the only surviving member of that family.

Castiel has already had two shifts, with four more lined up this week. It would be more convenient if Gas ‘n’ Sip was closer to the B&B, but it’s out on the highway. That’s the only major drawback so far, besides the time work takes away from research.

The park Castiel is crossing already has a few people in it. Some of them may have spent the night here, despite the danger. Castiel would be among their number without Dean’s money and Charlie’s generosity. When wages from Gas ‘n’ Sip accumulate, perhaps Castiel will be able to pay for both food and shelter here. More research will be required but the possibility exists.

Idle calculations are interrupted by a familiar voice shouting, “Cas!” Castiel turns to see Sam running up, flushed and in exercise clothing.

What is he doing here? Surprise freezes Castiel in place.

“I almost didn’t recognize you!” Sam pants as he approaches Castiel. “It’s still strange to see you without your coat!” He grins, like he’s genuinely happy they’ve run into each other.

“Good morning Sam,” Castiel forces out, mind racing. Is this a trick? Is Gadreel testing Castiel?

“Yeah, good morning. I didn’t think you were still nearby,” Sam says. His grin fades a little. “You left kind of suddenly.”

That is accurate. Castiel nods. How much does Sam know? Gadreel said he would be missing time but how much?

Sam’s eyebrows come together. “You know you’re still welcome in the bunker, right? Even if you and Dean... had a fight. There’s plenty of room.”

The heart twists. Castiel takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Sam, that’s very kind.”

They stand there in silence for a moment. Sam says, voice gentler than before, “I don’t know what happened. But if there’s anything I can do, let me know, okay?”

“Thank you,” Castiel says again, around the lump in the throat.

“Do you know my number? Do you have a phone?” Sam asks, reaching into his pocket.

Castiel says, carefully. “I don’t think we should communicate right now.”

Sam looks up, startled, his phone in his hand. “What? Why not?”

“I have to go. I’ll be late for work,” Castiel says, backing up a few steps. Even this short interaction is risking Sam’s life. Castiel turns to leave.

“Cas, wait. Where do you work? I can give you a ride, I drove here.” Sam catches up easily and walks beside Castiel.

“No, Sam,” Castiel says, not looking at him.

“I don’t understand,” Sam says, frustration creeping into his voice.

Castiel doesn’t answer. It hurts not to tell Sam what’s going on. Every day in the bunker would be like this, or some version of it. Castiel has to remember that. Finding a way to fix this situation can’t be done with Gadreel potentially watching.

“You’re still in Lebanon,” Sam says, when they’re near the edge of the park. “You wouldn’t be this close still unless there’s something going on.”

Should Castiel talk about Charlie? Is that more risky or less? The head aches. “Everything is fine,” Castiel lies.

Sam snorts like he isn’t convinced. “Then why did you leave? Dean won’t tell me anything.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Castiel says, stepping off the grass onto the road.

“No, it isn’t!” Sam quickly trots around to block Castiel’s path. “You two have been through so much, you finally get together, and then it’s just over? After two weeks? Just like that.”

“Eleven days,” Castiel corrects him.

Sam rolls his eyes and throws up his hands. “Fine, eleven days. Please, Cas. I just want to help.”

“You can’t,” Castiel snaps, wanting to shove Sam out of the way. He doesn’t know how dangerous this discussion is. Castiel takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm the body. “Sam. I have to go. Alone.”

Sam’s shoulders slump. He doesn’t move, but when Castiel steps around him, Sam also doesn’t try to prevent it.

Castiel is on high alert for the rest of the walk to work. It’s unnecessary. If Sam follows Castiel in his car, Castiel doesn’t see him.

----

Charlie knocks on the open bedroom door at the B&B that evening. Castiel looks up from the borrowed tablet. She leans against the door frame. “Hey Cas.”

“Hello Charlie.” Castiel blinks to dispel afterimages of Enochian characters. Charlie has digital access to an astonishing number of supernatural texts. Castiel has been skimming through the ones in languages other than English.

“Are you, uh, sleeping okay? It’s just, I hear you up pretty late most nights,” Charlie says.

“I’ll be quieter.”

Charlie shakes her head. “No, it’s okay, I’m a night owl so I’m up late too. But you work all day and then come back to work all night. I know it’s important to help Sam but I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel lies.

“Look, we don’t know each other very well, I get that. And you don’t have to confide in me! I just wanted to tell you that... Dean told me you two are dating.”

Why would Dean tell Charlie about his deception? She wasn’t in the bunker. There was no reason to involve her. “When did he tell you?”

“He texted me right after it happened. He was all giddy, it was pretty cute.” Charlie grins at the memory. She sobers at whatever expression she reads on Castiel’s face. “I don’t know how angels feel about all that.” She waves her hand vaguely.

“Angels aren’t supposed to feel any emotions,” Castiel says.

“Oh. But you did.”

Castiel nods.

Charlie smiles sympathetically. “It must’ve been confusing. Emotions are hard, even for humans.” She hesitates and then continues, “And being gay wouldn’t make it any easier.”

Castiel knows what the word means, of course. But it’s still a surprise to hear Charlie say it.

“I’m a lesbian,” Charlie says. “So I know from experience: not the easiest thing.” She grins. “Worth it though!”

Charlie is a woman who is attracted to women. She thinks Castiel is a man attracted to other men. It’s... technically correct, in that Castiel is in a human male body and is in love with Dean, another human male. But...

“Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to, like, label you or anything. I’m just awkward talking about this stuff,” Charlie says quickly. “Just wanted to come out to you real quick, in case Dean didn’t tell you about me.”

“He didn’t mention your sexuality,” Castiel says.

“Sure, makes sense,” Charlie says. “It’s better when people can come out themselves, y’know? Then they can share the right words.”

“What if they don’t know the right words?” Castiel asks.

Charlie’s eyes widen. “Uh, well, I guess they can look it up and figure out what fits. I can send you a few websites.”

Castiel is curious. Of course, it isn’t important right now. The other research Castiel is doing is vital. And besides, thinking about attraction would necessitate thinking about Dean. Castiel looks back down at the tablet.

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Charlie says.

“Goodnight Charlie,” Castiel says but she’s already left.

About half an hour later, Castiel receives an email at the address Charlie set up. ‘A few websites’ turns out to be at least a dozen links. Castiel clicks on the first one and is surprised by a purple cartoon called The Gender Unicorn. Examining the image and reading the text below sends Castiel back to the list of links for explanations. The possibilities are dizzying.

Castiel stays up far too late that night, reading in fascination.

----

The large television at Gas ‘n’ Sip rarely shows anything Castiel cares about, but the local news has a troubling incident to report this morning. Apparently, a man exploded while alone in his home last night.

“Sources say police are baffled by this inexplicable phenomenon,” the news anchor declares, sounding far too excited about it, in Castiel’s opinion. “And further investigation is necessary before they can give a definite verdict on the cause of this senseless tragedy. Back to you, Frank!”

Is there a mundane explanation for death by explosion indoors with no structural damage? Castiel sighs. Probably not.

Castiel fishes the cell phone out of a pocket. The store is empty right now but that could change at any time.

No unread messages so far today. Dean is texting less often, as time goes by and Castiel doesn’t answer him.

Squaring the shoulders, Castiel calls him.

Dean answers on the second ring. “Cas? Are you okay?” he asks, immediately worried.

Castiel closes the eyes involuntarily. Dean’s voice is... Castiel misses him, despite everything. “A man exploded last night,” Castiel says, forcing the eyes open and the voice to be calm and even.

“What?”

“He exploded,” Castiel repeats. “It could be a case for you.”

“Where are you? Did you see it happen?” Dean asks.

“No, it’s on the news. They just keep showing the outside of his house.” This is where Castiel should hang up. Dean has worked cases with less initial information than that. But Castiel doesn’t want to let go.

There’s clattering on the other end of the line. “Where did he live?” Dean asks.

Castiel relays the victim’s town and neighbourhood. The news story repeated them often.

“Shit, Cas, that’s so close by. Are you... you must still be in Kansas then. It sounds too new to be national yet.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say.

“Cas? You still there?” Dean asks.

The bell over the door chimes as a customer walks in. Castiel ends the call, pushing the cell phone back into its pocket. “Hello, how can I help you?”

The cell phone vibrates against the leg through the pocket lining. It stops after a moment, then starts up again. The customer glances around but doesn’t comment on the quiet noise.

After she’s gone, Castiel moves the cell phone to the table in Gas ‘n’ Sip’s break room. It can stay there until the end of the shift.

----

Later that day, the bell above the door jingles. “Hello, how can I help you?” Castiel asks automatically, without looking at the new customer. Jamie worked last night and the lottery tickets under the counter’s glass are all mixed up again.

“Well, for one,” Dean says and Castiel’s head snaps up. “You can answer your goddamn phone.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, feeling the cheeks heat. Suddenly, there’s not enough air. Castiel clears the throat. “What are you doing here?”

Dean glares. “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you working at a gas station, Cas?”

Trying to recover from the shock of seeing Dean again, even angry like this, Castiel latches onto his last word. “Steve.” Castiel points to the name tag. “It’s Steve here.”

If anything, being corrected makes Dean angrier. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is what you’re using that new ID for?”

Castiel bristles. “How else was I supposed to use it? I need a way to make money, Dean.”

“You wouldn’t need money if you’d just—God, Cas, I’ve been going out of my mind! Then you call out of nowhere with a fucking case? And oh, turns out, now you work at my gas station.”

Castiel hates the way Dean says ‘gas station’ with baffled disbelief in his voice. “Why do you care where I work?” Castiel snaps.

“It’s beneath you!” Dean exclaims. “You were a badass angel and now you’re...” Dean trails off, his eyes widening.

Anger makes the hands shake. Castiel presses the palms against the counter, leaning forward. “I’m human,” Castiel growls. “And it’s my fault I lost my grace and I have to deal with the consequences. Like eating and sleeping and trying to stay alive.”

Castiel pauses but Dean doesn’t say anything. They stare into each other’s eyes in silence for a moment.

Feeling a little calmer, Castiel continues, “So I’m working here. I can’t live on your charity forever.”

Dean swallows hard. “It isn’t charity , Cas, it’s—” He stops suddenly, like the words he wanted to say disappeared.

“What is it then?” Castiel is curious now.

Dean shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. Then, speaking at a normal volume, he says, “So this case you found. Do you know anything else about it?”

“If I did, I would’ve told you,” Castiel says, reasonably.

Sighing, Dean nods. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna go see what I can find out.”

“Good luck.” Remembering the accompanying gesture, Castiel performs it, thumb upwards with the rest of the fingers curled in to the palm.

From Dean’s expression, Castiel didn’t do it right.

Two customers choose that moment to walk in so Dean leaves the counter. He doesn’t leave the store. The skin prickles while Castiel helps the customers with their gas purchase and chocolate bars.

Once they’ve left, Dean comes back to the counter, empty-handed. Castiel both wishes he would go and longs for him to stay. The silence between them stretches.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Castiel asks, at last. It’s one of the approved closing phrases from the Gas ‘n’ Sip training manual.

Dean rocks back on his heels, his expression going stony. “Guess not.” He turns and quickly exits the store, the bell on the door jingling behind him.

----

As Castiel is walking back to the B&B, still thinking about Dean’s visit, a car pulls off the highway a few yards away. A young woman gets out. She looks nervous.

Castiel stops walking. She’s so familiar. Where did Castiel meet her before?

“Hey, sorry to bother you but I’m totally lost,” she says, smiling awkwardly.

Castiel recognizes her. She gave Castiel the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in Detroit. What is she doing here? “Where are you trying to go?” Castiel asks.

“Corner Bar & Grill in Lebanon,” she says, taking a few steps closer.

Castiel points down the highway, in the direction she was going. “Straight ahead.”

The young woman turns to look, then looks back at Castiel. “You’re going that way? I could drive you that far at least.” She smiles again, sticking out her hand to shake. “I’m April.”

Still wearing the name tag from Gas ‘n’ Sip, Castiel says, “Steve.” Stepping forward, Castiel wonders whether to mention the sandwich. Maybe April helps so many hungry people that she doesn’t remember them all.

They shake hands. “Nice to meet you, Steve. Hop in,” April says, letting go and gesturing to her car.

“No, I don’t need a ride,” Castiel says.

April frowns. “Are you sure?”

Castiel nods. “Yeah.”

April reaches forward to close her hand around the right arm. The blade hidden in that sleeve cuts into the skin.

Castiel gasps. The pain is sharp and bright and unexpected.

“What’s wrong?” April asks, holding on.

When Castiel looks down, red blood is blooming through the white cloth like soft-petalled flowers. “My—my...” Castiel stammers. It hurts.

April’s grip tightens. The blade must be cutting into her hand too.

“Stop!” Castiel tries to pull away. And fails utterly. April is strong. Inhumanly strong.

She changes her grip on the arm in order to shove Castiel down. Castiel falls, hitting the back of the head against the hard asphalt at the side of the highway.

“Oh, Castiel,” April says, as the world fades to black. “We’re just getting started.”

----

The head aches. Castiel opens the eyes, squinting against the blinding light.

April is standing a few steps away, idly twirling Castiel’s blade. She smiles brightly. “Finally! For a minute there, I thought I hit you too hard.”

Castiel tries to move. There’s rope wrapped around the waist and arms, tying Castiel to a chair. They’re in a tall-ceilinged building Castiel doesn’t recognize.

“How did you find me?” Castiel asks. Though it was done hastily, the warding tattoo should hide Castiel from angelic searching. The ankles are also tied together to the chair rungs. Dried blood mats the right sleeve. That arm hurts but ironically, the tight rope probably helped the wound stop bleeding.

April shrugs. “Once I lost your trail in Detroit, I knew you’d be near the Winchesters. I’m lucky I got to you first.”

The stomach drops. Has April hurt Dean or Sam? They’d be safe in the bunker but they don’t stay there all the time.

“Did you—” Castiel starts to ask but April darts in, slashing at the chest with the blade. It parts the cloth of both vest and shirt easily, lightly scoring the skin beneath. Startled, Castiel cries out.

April grins. “I’ll be asking the questions, Castiel,” she says, straddling the bound legs so their faces are inches apart. “The new boss is offering double for both information and traitor.”

Breathing heavily from the pain, Castiel turns away as much as possible. It’s a futile gesture.

April slowly pushes the blade a few inches into one shoulder, holding on to the chair back behind it for balance.

“I don’t know anything!” Castiel cries. Panic and fear, as well as pain, are making the body tremble. Castiel tries to hold still. Any movement could make the wound worse. The blade is incredibly sharp.

“Oh, honey, wait for me to ask first,” April says. She pulls the blade out. “We could’ve had a nice time in my car,” she continues, voice raised over Castiel’s wordless shout. “I was ready to be very sweet with you, for a while. The real April would’ve loved that.”

The shoulder throbs, bleeding freely. Castiel pants raggedly, overwhelmed.

April grabs the chin and forces Castiel to meet her eyes. “So tell me about your collaboration with Metatron. How do we reopen Heaven?”

In spite of everything, Castiel wants to laugh. The words come out in gasps instead. “I didn’t. Collaborate. He used me.”

April frowns. She lets go of the chin and moves back, standing on her own feet. “Tell me the truth.”

Castiel’s relief at April’s retreat disappears when she slashes the other side of the chest. It hurts so much. The vest and shirt are thoroughly ruined now, torn and bloody.

Despair flares up. Castiel can’t last long bleeding like this, from so many wounds. “He tricked me, he used my grace for the spell,” Castiel says, desperate for her to listen. “That’s why I’m human. I’ve been trying to fix it!”

Rolling her eyes, April rips the shredded cloth aside and places the tip of the blade over the pounding heart. Castiel freezes.

Movement behind April catches the eye. Someone else is in the room with them. Castiel can’t see past their circle of bright light. Hope catches in the chest, making the heart clench.

“Fix it? How does running away fix it?” April asks scornfully, as a strange man walks up behind her.

Time seems to slow down. The blade nicks the skin. Castiel breathes in. The man touches the back of April’s head, his face calm. Bright light crackles over her skin as her eyes widen in shock and her mouth opens in a scream.

And then April explodes.

The eyes shut automatically as the fine pink mist that used to be April’s vessel sprays over Castiel. It’s warm.

The stomach rebels. Castiel almost vomits but holds it back, blinking up at the man. The angel. He’s a Rit Zien.

“Hello brother,” the Rit Zien says, and something about the way he says it rings a bell of recognition.

“Ephraim?” Castiel chokes out.

Ephraim smiles a little. “Castiel. I’ve been looking for you.”

Castiel feels faint, the pulse thrumming in the ears. Maybe he’ll listen. Castiel takes a shallow breath, trying to calm down. “Ephraim, I don’t know anything about Metatron’s spell, I promise.”

Shaking his head, still smiling, Ephraim steps forward, shoes squelching in the mess. “Oh, you misunderstand. That’s not why.”

Castiel relaxes fractionally. “Then why?”

“This world is so full of pain,” Ephraim says, spreading his hands. “All these humans are suffering so much.”

The exploding man on the news. The Rit Zien method of mercy killing. Nausea roils the stomach again. “No, Ephraim, they aren’t—”

Ephraim continues speaking. “And yet, your pain cut through it all.”

Castiel stares at him. “My... what?” It doesn’t make any sense.

“Pain so strong that it called to me over many miles,” Ephraim says. He’s standing less than an arm’s length away. “I’m sorry it took me so long to arrive, brother. Let me ease your suffering.”

“No!” Castiel cries and hears an echoing shout from across the room. Dean, Sam, and Charlie rush into the circle of bright light.

“Get away from him, you son of a bitch!” Dean yells.

Ephraim turns around. Castiel sees his body tense from behind. “Gadreel?” Ephraim asks, confused. “Why are you inside Lucifer’s sword?”

Everyone freezes. Sam’s eyes widen. He looks sideways at Dean. Whatever Sam sees in Dean’s face, it must make up his mind.

“Oh shit,” Charlie whispers.

Sam’s mouth opens and blue grace streaks out, passing up through the roof and away. Sam stands there for one tense moment. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses.

“Sam!” Dean cries. He lunges forward to catch his brother but Sam falls too quickly and Dean ends up crouched over his body.

Charlie darts around Ephraim and cuts through the ropes tying Castiel to the chair, using the machete she brought with her.

Castiel slumps forward to grab the dropped blade, then staggers upright. The wounds throb. The room sways alarmingly. Castiel ignores both sensations. “Ephraim!”

Ephraim turns, still looking confused. “Castiel, did you know the traitor was free?” he asks. He frowns. “Was that your objective all along?”

Charlie rushes out of the ring of light, her phone to her ear. “My friend’s hurt, we need an ambulance,” Castiel hears her say.

Dean checks Sam’s pulse, saying, “Sam, can you hear me? You gotta hold on, okay?” He looks up at Castiel.

“Ephraim,” Castiel says again. “You have to restore him.”

Ephraim glances down at Sam, then back to Castiel. “Why would I do that?” he asks.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll consume your grace and do it myself,” Castiel says, feeling sick.

Ephraim takes a step backward. “What? But you were a seraph. My grace will poison you!”

“Over time,” Castiel agrees. But it won’t matter. The blade shakes in the trembling hand, stained pink like everything in April’s blast radius. Castiel grips it tighter.

Dean’s staring at Castiel like he can’t believe his eyes.

“Do it, Ephraim,” Castiel commands.

“I can put him out of his misery. And you too. You’re in terrible pain,” Ephraim says, as if Castiel doesn’t already know that.

“Restore him,” Castiel repeats. If Castiel was still an angel, they’d never take such a risk with Sam’s life. Gadreel was healing him from the inside, or at least claiming to. Castiel might have been able to finish the process. There’s no point thinking about it.

Ephraim reaches out. The wrong way, toward Castiel.

“Cas!” Dean shouts, behind him.

Castiel raises the pink blade, but not fast enough. Ephraim’s hand touches the shoulder wound. Grace burns through the body. Castiel gasps.

Keep the eyes open. See Dean one more time.

The moment stretches. Ephraim draws his grace and hand away, smiling a little. “There.”

Castiel is still here. Looking down, the wounds are all gone. The body is clean. Even the shirt and vest are whole again.

The lungs burn for air. Castiel breathes in shakily.

“I’ve never restored a human before,” Ephraim says. “It’s satisfying, isn’t it?”

Still stunned, Castiel nods. The absence of pain and weakness is such a relief. It’s almost like having grace again.

Dean looks wary as Ephraim approaches but doesn’t resist as he bends down to touch Sam.

Sam’s eyes snap open and he sits up. “What?” he gasps, staring around.

Ephraim smiles over his shoulder at Castiel. “I like it,” he remarks. “Maybe I’ll do this more often.”

Castiel can’t quite smile back.

Ephraim is still smiling when Dean stabs him in the back with his angel blade. Blue grace flares out of Ephraim’s eyes and he’s dead. His vessel falls to the floor, the outline of his ragged wings stretching past the ring of light into the dark.

Sam stares from the body to Cas to Dean. He takes a shuddering breath. “I was possessed?” he asks.

Dean pulls his angel blade out of the body. “Sammy, I—”

Sam interrupts. “I was possessed and all of you knew?” He gestures to include Dean, Castiel, and the absent Charlie.

“You would’ve died,” Dean says, voice flat. “You just about did anyway.”

Sam opens his mouth and shuts it again. He stands up, shrugging off Dean’s offer of assistance, and walks away, in the direction Charlie went.

Dean rubs a hand over his face. He glances over at Castiel, looking exhausted. “Come on,” he says.

Castiel follows him outside.

The building they emerge from is a barn, old and abandoned. An extension cord snakes through the open door to April’s car, its battery the source of electricity for her interrogation lamp. Charlie and Sam are talking quietly a little further on, next to the Impala.

When Dean and Cas join them at the Impala, Sam says, “You can sit in the front, Cas.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before opening the back door and sliding in. Charlie gets in the other side.

Dean looks at Castiel over the roof of the car, like he wants to say something. Castiel waits for a moment. Dean just stands there, silent. Castiel opens the front passenger door and gets in.

They drive back to the bunker in tense silence, passing the unnecessary ambulance on the way.

----

Sam disappears with Charlie into the bunker as soon as they arrive. Dean and Castiel end up in the library, near the table where Castiel used to look for ways to reopen Heaven. Neither of them sit.

Dean clears his throat. “Are you... actually okay?” he asks.

Castiel nods. The bee mug is gone. That makes sense. Why would it still be here, after two weeks? Castiel feels a pang of loss anyway.

“Good,” Dean says.

They stand there in silence again. This time, Castiel breaks it. “I want to stay in the bunker.”

Dean stares. “What?”

“I know our romantic relationship was fake,” Castiel assures him. “But I—”

Dean cuts in. “It wasn’t fake!” he snaps.

“What?”

“Dammit, Cas, I just told Gadreel that to get him off your back. He was saying shit about danger following you to the bunker so I told him I’d keep you inside and distracted.”

Castiel can’t breathe. Where’s all the air gone? The heart pounds.

“Cas?” Dean asks, sounding strange, like Castiel is hearing him through water.

Dean’s hand on the arm brings Castiel back. Staring into his worried eyes, Castiel asks, “It was real?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice cracking on the word.

Oh. Castiel fumbles for the edge of the table with the free hand. Finding it, Castiel takes a deep breath.

Dean leans back, letting go. It’s Castiel’s turn to grab his arm. “I thought... I made a mistake,” Castiel says.

“Cas,” Dean breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispers.

“It isn’t your fault,” Dean says. “I’m... I’m a liar and a fuck up and...” He’s shaking.

Castiel pulls Dean forward and hugs him. Dean’s breath catches. He hugs back, burying his face in the shoulder. Castiel’s glad the wounds are healed.

They stay in each other’s arms for a long time. Castiel never wants to let go.

Finally, Dean raises his head. Still holding on to Castiel, he asks, “You really want to come back to the bunker?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Dean, can we... I want to try again.”

For a moment, shock shows on Dean’s face. Then he smiles. “Yeah?”

In answer, Castiel kisses him. Tentative at first, the kiss grows in intensity as Dean responds. Kissing Dean is always so wonderful. Joy bubbles up inside Castiel.

Smiling so widely makes it difficult to kiss. Laughing, Dean pulls back. “So, Cas, does that mean you want to be my boyfriend?” he asks.

Castiel must tense up because Dean’s eyebrows come together. He opens his mouth but Castiel blurts out, “I’m agender.”

Dean looks more confused. “Uh, okay?”

“Boyfriend is for men, I’m not a man,” Castiel explains, feeling a little self-conscious.

“You’re agender? What’s that?” Dean asks.

“It means I don’t have a gender identity. Technically, agender falls under the nonbinary umbrella,” Castiel explains. “Agender people tend to prefer gender-neutral terms like partner or significant other.”

Dean nods slowly. “Okay. Partner?” He grins. “Like cowboys? Shit, I mean, like cow... people? Ranch hands?”

Castiel has to kiss him for that self-correction. “I want to be your partner, Dean,” Castiel says softly, as the kiss ends.

“Awesome,” Dean says. “I want to be yours.”

They kiss again. It’s just as good as the last time.

Dean moves his hands to the waist, pulling Castiel in a little closer. Then he pauses, his body suddenly still. Castiel leans back, confused.

“Is being agender part of the... sex thing?” Dean asks.

“I’m asexual too,” Castiel says. From the websites Charlie found, and Castiel’s extended research, asexuality is a spectrum. Castiel is definitely on it somewhere.

“Oh,” Dean says. “Is that—does that mean you don’t want to have sex? At all?”

“I don’t know. I’ve read that some asexual people do have sex sometimes. We’d have to figure it out,” Castiel says.

Dean takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Any of it.”

Castiel smiles. “We’ve already had that conversation.”

“Just making sure it sticks,” Dean says. “I’ve fucked up a lot of shit lately.”

“You also saved my life tonight,” Castiel reminds him.

Before Dean can answer, Sam emerges from the hallway with a packed bag, Charlie by his side.

“Sam and I are going to hunt together for a while,” Charlie says.

Dean steps away from Castiel, his hands coming to rest on the back of a chair. “How long’s a while?” he asks, eyes on the tabletop.

“As long as I need,” Sam says. “Dean.”

Dean looks up at him.

“I know you did it to save me,” Sam says. “But I’m gonna need some space for a while. Okay?”

Dean nods. “Okay.”

Sam nods and leaves the library, on his way out the front door.

Charlie circles the library table with her arms out. Dean bends down to hug her. “I’ll take care of him,” Castiel hears her say.

“Keep me updated, okay?” Dean asks, quietly.

Charlie ends the hug, looking up at him with a sad smile. “Sure.” Unexpectedly, she turns to Castiel. “Are you coming with us?”

“I’m staying here,” Castiel says, and Dean’s tight shoulders relax just a little.

“I’ll drop off your bag on our way out of town,” Charlie promises.

That’s kind of her. “Thank you, Charlie,” Castiel says.

She opens her arms. “Hug?” she asks.

They hug. “Take care of yourself,” Charlie says, as she lets go.

“You too,” Castiel says.

Charlie smiles over her shoulder as she walks away. Castiel and Dean watch her go. She waves at the top of the bunker’s entrance stairs. They wave back.

The bunker door thunks shut. Dean doesn’t move, still looking that way.

“He’ll come back,” Castiel says, trying for comfort.

Dean swipes his arm over his eyes and turns back to Castiel. “Maybe.” He sighs. “You hungry? I’m starving.”

“What time is it?” Castiel asks.

Dean smiles faintly. “Past dinnertime. Come on, I’ll make us something.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand and they walk to the kitchen together, holding on the whole way.

Chapter Text

Castiel picks up the bee mug and gently dunks it in the soapy water. Washing dishes is a chore one has to keep doing over and over. But the bee mug feels good in the hands and under the sponge so that helps a little.

Carefully rinsing the bee mug and setting it on the drying rack, Castiel starts in on the rest of the dirty dishes. They never have many at a time.

Dean comes back into the kitchen. “Oh, Cas, I was going to do those,” he says.

“And now I’m doing them,” Castiel replies. “How’s Charlie?”

“Good. Great, actually. It ended up being a tulpa so that’s a new monster for her life-list.” Dean approaches the drying rack, dishtowel in hand.

“They’ll dry by the morning,” Castiel says, finishing the second fork.

Dean shrugs. “They’ll be dry now if I dry them.”

It’s more sanitary to let dishes air-dry but that isn’t a hill to argue about tonight. “Did you talk to Sam?” Castiel asks.

“For a minute. He says he’s fine, asked how you’re doing.” Dean picks up the bee mug, smiling at it.

Castiel feels the heart lift a little. Dean’s smile really could light up a room. “I’m doing very well.”

Dean leans toward Castiel, bumping their shoulders together. “Good.”

Impulsively, Castiel turns and kisses Dean’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Dean asks.

“For you.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I walked right into that one.”

He leaves the empty drying rack to put the silverware and the bee mug away. Castiel quickly washes the two plates and places them on the rack just in time for Dean to return. That only leaves the pan, which was soaking while they ate dinner so it’s easily washed now.

Castiel grabs another dishtowel and the remaining wet plate.

“Where’s the fire?” Dean asks.

That’s an idiom. “I want to go make out in your room,” Castiel says.

There’s a clatter while Dean swiftly puts the plate he just finished drying back into the rack. “You’re right, these can air dry,” he says, snatching Castiel’s plate and dishtowel out of the hands.

Castiel smiles at the unexpected victory. When Dean turns around, he smiles back.

Castiel pulls Dean in for a kiss, eyes falling closed. It’s always so satisfying to kiss Dean. Familiar and new at the same time.

“Or we could make out in the kitchen,” Dean suggests breathlessly, when the kiss ends.

“Bedroom,” Castiel says, firmly. They’ve tried this in other rooms and it’s much more physically awkward. The kitchen has too many hard corners and they tend to end up on the floor in the library. Dean’s bed is infinitely preferable to either.

Dean nods vigorously. “Yeah, okay, bedroom.”

The short walk is made longer by more kisses but Castiel doesn’t mind. Once in Dean’s room, they shed shoes, socks, and outer shirts at once to climb onto his bed together.

There’s security in experience. They’ve made out successfully many times now. Sometimes the penis becomes erect during make out sessions but they’ve both learned to ignore it.

As usual, Castiel is on top. Straddling Dean as they kiss, one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. The hand print scar isn’t there anymore. Their connection is less obvious now, written on Dean’s soul rather than his skin.

Warmth flows through the body. Castiel loves the way this feels. Kissing Dean is amazing. Castiel could do this forever.

Dean’s hands clench in the T-shirt, like he’s trying to pull Castiel closer. Castiel obliges him, leaning in a little more, settling into Dean’s lap a little more firmly. Dean gasps, muffled by their mouths.

He shifts, presumably getting more comfortable. Castiel doesn’t think anything of it until Dean breaks their kiss to gasp, “Cas.”

Castiel opens the eyes, blinking in the light. “Dean?” The voice is rough, like Castiel has been asleep.

Dean shifts again, his erection very apparent against the thigh. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated. “I, uh,” Dean stammers.

“Do you want to stop?” Castiel asks. Involuntarily, the fingers flex in Dean’s hair. Castiel will let go if Dean needs space. But if he doesn’t, Castiel wants to keep going.

“Shit,” Dean gasps. “Sorry. I, uh, didn’t get ready.” He’s still clinging to the shirt.

“Get ready?” Castiel asks, confused. Then it makes sense. “Oh, you didn’t shower yet?”

Dean’s already pink cheeks flush darker red. “I usually jerk off. In the shower. Before we...” He trails off.

“Oh.” Castiel didn’t know that. It’s logical. Dean’s very considerate.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “So... I can go do that?”

The way he says it sounds like a question. He doesn’t need Castiel’s permission. Though Castiel is curious now. “Can I watch?”

Dean’s hips jerks a little, then he huffs a laugh. “Won’t be much to see if you keep talking like that.” He sobers quickly. “Though, Cas, you don’t have to. I’m fine going solo on this part.”

“If it feels good for you, I want to see what that’s like,” Castiel says. It’s always nice to watch Dean enjoy things.

Dean’s expression softens and he shifts his grip to guide Castiel down for another kiss. “We can do it in here,” he says, quietly, as the kiss ends.

“Do you need anything?” Castiel asks, reluctantly sitting up, careful to move onto Dean’s legs.

Dean sits up more as well. “Kleenex,” he says, pointing. “And, uh, there’s lube in my nightstand.”

Castiel stands up from the bed to grab the required items. Dean gingerly removes his pants and tosses them on the floor. He pauses with his hands on his underwear waistband, looking hesitant. Has he changed his mind?

“You can say no too,” Castiel reminds him.

Dean takes a deep breath. “I’m good,” he says. “Just... want this to be okay.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel says, trying to sound reassuring. Dean's caution makes sense, given their history. But Castiel really will tell him now if their activity stops feeling good.

“Come here then, beside me?” Dean asks.

Castiel circles Dean’s bed and joins him from the other side. Their shoulders bump together. Dean shimmies out of his underwear, holding his erect penis with one hand.

Offering Dean the lube, Castiel says, “Show me.”

Dean groans. “Yeah.” He wets his right hand with lube and then strokes his penis.

Castiel watches carefully. Dean goes slowly at first, then speeds up his hand. His breathing increases and Castiel can feel the lungs matching Dean sympathetically.

“Not... not long now,” Dean pants.

Leaning forward to get a better view, Castiel feels the shoulder press into Dean’s side. Dean shivers. Castiel adjusts, curling the right arm around Dean. His skin is warm.

Dean groans again, louder now. “Cas,” he gasps.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel says.

Dean’s body stiffens. He cries out as he comes, spilling over his hand. Most of Dean’s cum is caught by the strategically placed Kleenexes.

Dean leans against Castiel, panting. Castiel squeezes him with the arm already around him, in a half-hug. “Good?” Castiel asks.

Dean laughs shakily. “Yeah,” he says. “Really good.”

Castiel smiles and kisses him.